


Numb.

by rubyrosettared



Category: Being Human (UK)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:15:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 114,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubyrosettared/pseuds/rubyrosettared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Was Edgar Wyndam *really* afraid of Hal Yorke? What do you think? This is my interpretation of how the Old One could have had a hand in the moulding of a young fledgling vampire by the name of Hal Yorke.  Lots of theory, supposition and other stuff used. All characters not familiar to the Being Human fandom are my own. Any errors are purely accidental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One.

**Numb.**

**Chapter One:**

**_“I think the others are scared of him. Ivan, Wyndam, Jacob. Even Hettie. Not Mr Snow obviously. Sometimes I think the only demon worse than him must be the one he’s running from… ”_ **

**_The Present…_ **

Nervous trepidation fills him as he follows Tom and Alex into the warehouse. If he had any sort of heartbeat then right now it would be loud enough for everyone to hear. His breathing is shallow as they creep along and then pause. As Hal turns to look, his eyes widen and fear pools coldly in the pit of his stomach when he sees Snow seated behind the long narrow table, holding court like the monarch he aspires to be. His mouth goes dry and he licks his lips as his eyes skip over the faces accompanying him. He knows them, he knows them all. He used to sit at a table such as that, more often than not on Snow’s right hand. That was such a long time ago and he isn’t talking about the fifty five years of isolation he’s just emerged from.

Where is he? He feels his stomach clench as he almost desperately searches him out. He can’t see him. Hasn’t he arrived yet? It’s very rare that they travel alone so perhaps he’s been delayed somehow. He just knows that he wouldn’t miss an occasion such as this one. Something feels off somehow and the uneasiness resting between his shoulder blades increases.

He turns his head to look at Tom. “We have to get out of here,” he whispers to him and his gaze falters back to the other group. Under any other circumstances he would be here with all of them. Fear curdles inside of him. Snow doesn’t know that he’s here, that he’s in Barry. Once he does then it’s game over. He’ll instruct him to join them and he’ll obey without question. It won’t be within his power not to.

He drags oxygen into his lungs as they emerge into bright daylight. Hal walks, he has to keep going because if he stops then he’ll go back to them, announce himself and rejoin the fold. Every instinct is screaming inside of him to do exactly that. His hands curl into fists and he frowns against it. He feels ill. He wants to vomit.

Where is he? He didn’t see him there. He should be there but he wasn’t. Why isn’t he there? Where is he?  His legs feel rubbery and he almost stumbles.

“Hal…slow down…” He barely hears Tom call out, his mind is busy, filled with scenarios and situations. What if he’s already here, what if he’s been watching him all of this time and he has been unaware?

“ _Hal_!” Alex’s voice is sharp with impatience and he pulls up short as she materialises in front of him. He stares at her in confusion for a moment.

“You don’t understand. We must leave. If Snow is here, then the others will be too, _he’ll_ be there, he has to be.” His words stumble over themselves in a panic-stricken whisper and she stares at him strangely.

“Who? _Who_ are you talkin’ about?” she demands and he frowns as his brain struggles to comprehend what he’s just seen, what he’s witnessed and the realisation that it is finally beginning.

“What’s goin’ on Hal…why did ya take off like that?” Tom sounds faintly out of breath as he finally catches up to them and it’s then Hal realises how quickly he’s been walking, so lost in his snowballing thoughts.

He lifts worried eyes to his friend’s face. “We must leave. Immediately. They’re here. We must take Eve and Annie and just… _leave_.”

“The Old Ones…but you’re one of ‘em an’ I thought you weren’t scared of ‘em?”

Hal stares at him and his eyes widen. “You don’t _understand_. Snow is there, he’s the leader of us all. This is business Tom. Once word gets to him that I’m here then he’ll demand my immediate return and I _will_ return to him. I will obey him absolutely and completely without question therefore we must leave… _now_.”

He can see that he has confused Tom completely.

“But you knew they were comin’….” His voice falters as Hal’s frown deepens and he turns to walk again. Hal freezes when he feels Tom grab his upper arm and he turns his head and he looks at him. Tom frowns at the expression on Hal’s face. He’s never seen him in this state of _panic_ before and he finds it disconcerting.

“I know…I know…I just…” He realises that when it is all said and done, he isn’t ready to face up to them.

He doesn’t want to face _him_ most of all.

* * *

 

**_The Past… Somewhere in Europe, early Sixteenth Century…_ **

His head hurts. He needs to feed. Perhaps his head hurts _because_ he needs to feed. He doesn’t know but his arm curls protectively across his stomach as it gives a low intense rumble.

His eyes take in his accommodation. By all accounts it is quite sumptuous. He has a bed this time with fine sheets and warm coverings and he is fed on a regular basis; more wine and food than he knows what to do with but of what he _really_  requires there is no sign.

He hasn’t seen Snow today and he wonders why. They were introduced a little while ago he isn’t quite sure of exactly when but they came across each other and for some reason Snow has taken a liking to him.

He lies in the centre of his wide bed and wraps a sheet tightly around his body.  He stares up at the high ceiling as the deep growl in his stomach transforms into pain. He feels every muscle tighten in response and the ringing inside of his skull intensifies. A cold sweat coats his skin. Snow has instructed that he remain here and not to leave. He won’t say why and that annoys him. He closes his eyes and screws them tightly shut.

They pop open again when he hears a door open and he lifts his head off the pillow as he becomes aware of the rapid fluttering of heartbeat and pulse. He sees her and he slowly sits up and watches her as she comes closer to him. She’s carrying clean linen but she doesn’t look at him as she crosses the room and disappears through another doorway to his left that is partially hidden by wall hangings. He listens and at the same time shuffles to the edge of his bed. He watches her emerge and she’s carrying his clothes from the previous day. She hasn’t acknowledged him yet; she hasn’t even looked in his general direction. He continues to regard her, his fascination growing.

She’s a pretty thing with inky black hair that tumbles unbound and uncovered down between her shoulder blades. Her skin is olive tinted and flawless and he wonders at the colour of her eyes. He continues to watch as she turns in his direction and finally she looks at him.

Her eyes are a dark brown colour and oh she is beautiful!

He watches as she bobs a little curtsey and he is charmed by her all over again.

“Your bath is ready Mr Yorke.” Her voice is low, respectful and accented.

He frowns at her. “My bath?”

Her eyes flick to his face and quickly drop to the floor again. “Mr Snow has instructed me to tell you that he is expecting an important guest and that you must bathe…and be dressed in time for his arrival. He was very specific.”

Hal barely refrains from rolling his eyes.

“Was he now?” He slowly gets to his feet and at the last moment grabs a sheet from his bed and he wraps it around his naked body not before he catches a glimpse of the girl’s cheeks which flush a rosy hue. He bites back a smile.

“What is your name?” he asks as he wraps the sheet toga style around himself. Once more she glances up at him and then away again.

“Francesca…sir,” she whispers back. He watches her. Her skin is smooth and unlined and she is the owner of a pair of full plump lips that just beg to be kissed. He feels lust warm him.

Maybe after he has bathed…

“Francesca…a pretty name. I’m Hal,” he replies in a soft, low voice

“It is an honour to make your acquaintance…Hal,” she murmurs as she dips into another curtsey. He regards her with a half-smile of amusement before leaving to go into the next room.

* * *

 

There is a large oval tub in the centre of the small room. He catches the aroma of sweet smelling herbs that have been added to the hot water and he watches the steam from it curl lazily up to the ceiling. He sighs quietly, feeling the previous knot of tension begin to dissolve inside of him. On a table beside the tub is the neat pile of linen he’d watched Francesca carry in before, accompanied by a large cake of ivory white scented soap. He looks down at his chest and he sees the rusty brown stains that mark the skin, there are similar sweeping streaks down both arms and encrusted beneath his fingernails. He frowns slightly. When was the last time he bathed? In truth he doesn’t really remember, he just knows that he needs to feed and feed soon. One day blends into the next when living this existence. He sighs. So Snow has a visitor and that he must be made presentable. Another mentor he wonders?  How many will that make this one? He forgets. He sighs quietly and drops the sheet and he climbs into the tub.

The water is pleasantly hot as he sinks down into its heat. He’s surrounded by a cloud of fragrant steam as he stretches out and rests his head against the rim. He’s discovered that he likes to bathe and prefers to do it regularly. In the past there wasn’t much of an opportunity to do so but now he takes advantage of it. He closes his eyes and remembers the first time he’d undergone the process and of how loudly he had protested. It had taken three baths such as this one before he had been proclaimed clean enough and the indignity of it lives with him still. Now he’s welcomes it, enjoys the feel of the heated water against his skin, of how it relaxes him. He likes being clean. He likes being clean most of all.

He turns his head when he hears the door between chambers opening and he sees Francesca appear. Hal straightens so that he can see her more clearly as she retrieves the soiled sheet and disappears again.

He sighs once more and relaxes back against the rim of the tub again. He closes his eyes and unbidden an image of Lizzie flashes into his memory.  He remembers her pretty blue eyes and her long golden fair hair. He remembers her laughter and her smile most of all. It almost makes him smile in response but not quite. He frowns slightly and opens his eyes and gazes unseeingly ahead. He won’t think about her. He takes a deep breath and instead he slides beneath the silky surface of the water.

* * *

 

A shadow flitters across his vision and breaks his concentration and he noisily resurfaces. Water sloshes messily over the rim as he sits up. He opens his eyes and turns his head and he sees Francesca standing beside the tub staring at him with wide startled eyes. He wipes at his face and looks at her again.

“What are you doing?” he demands testily.

“I…I thought that you might need…help…” Her voice fades. Hal stares at her. “M…Mr Snow instructed me to make sure that your every need is met,” she continues to stutter.

“Very well,” he snips impatiently and sees how she creeps almost timidly towards the table and she picks up a smaller square of soft looking cloth. Cautiously she approaches the side of the tub and dips the cloth into the water. He pulls his knees up beneath his chin and tenses when he feels her smooth the wet cloth across his back, between his shoulder blades. The herbal scent of the soap fills his nostrils as she moves the cloth backwards and forwards in careful smooth strokes. He can feel the water sluice down the length of his spine. He swallows, his mouth becoming dry. She’s being so gentle, so cautious…

_Pain. Intense pain._

_I can feel fingers digging into the back of my neck. I can’t move my arms. Hands slide all over my body, touching, probing, prodding, taking._

_I’m cold, so cold. It feels as though I have no feeling inside of my body apart from this pain._

_I can smell him, unwashed and pungent. I can feel his skin against mine._

_Make it stop, God in heaven please make it stop._

_Another one. Oh God._

_Pressure, pain. I feel my face being forced into the mattress._

_I can’t breathe._

_Such savagery and hatred in this act of possession._

_God save me. No more._

“Enough!” He jerks as his roared command echoes around the room, bounces off the wall. He flings an arm outwards. Instantly Francesca stops what she’s doing and staggers back in terror. Hal pulls his knees more tightly beneath his chin and curls his arms around them.  He rests his forehead on his knees and closes his eyes. He remains like that for a moment, quivering and shaking, his heavy breathing rasping in his lungs and echoing around the room.

“Leave me…no…” he snaps out and she freezes on the spot. Slowly he lifts his head and he looks at her. “Wine. Bring me wine,” he tells her in a low strangled voice and he watches her scuttle out.

The ensuing silence is overwhelming as Hal straightens up. Usually he doesn’t allow himself to remember that time. He keeps it all firmly inside of him as if stored inside of a locked chest but that memory had broken free all because of a gentle touch. He takes a deep breath and he scrubs at his face. He hadn’t realised that he’d spoken out loud until he’d seen the expression on her face. She’d been terrified. He exhales shakily.

 He needs to at least try to remain in control.

He watches Francesca return with a cup of the requested wine and he holds out a hand for it. Carefully she places it there before retreating a couple of hasty steps.

He drinks it quickly, gulping it down in one go. He holds the cup out to Francesca and then retrieves the cloth from where Francesca dropped it in the tub. He lifts his head once more and regards her.

“I’m not sure what…came over me. I’m sorry.” His voice lowers to almost a whisper. He takes another, deeper breath and feels his control reassert itself further.

* * *

 

She stays in the room keeping a careful silent vigil as he washes. He scrubs every single inch of his body.  Once he is finished then she stands beside the tub holding out a large linen cloth for him as he stands up and then slowly, carefully he gets out. He regards her sombrely and takes the cloth from her and he slowly wraps it around his waist.

“Thank you Francesca.” His fingers brush against hers and he watches how her pupils dilate at the contact.

“You’re very pretty. Do you have a sweetheart or a husband?” He begins to turn and he walks a couple of paces away from her as he secures the cloth more firmly at his waist and then he pauses. Slowly he turns around and he observes her. Her beauty is quite simply breathtaking.

“No sir, I have neither,” she replies quietly. He’s back in front of her in the blink of an eye. She flinches and gasps. He regards her, staring at her with a single minded intensity that is unsettling. He tilts his head perceptibly to the side.

“Pity.” She gives a cry as he grabs her by her upper arms and hauls her up against him. His eyes flash black and his fangs erupt as he buries his face into the curve of her neck.

His grip tightens on her arms and he turns and pushes her back until she is pinned up against the tub and he uses his body to hold her brutally in place. Her struggles momentarily excite him; he often feels the frisson of a challenge when his meal fights back but it doesn’t last for long as he becomes more focused on the task at hand. He feeds, his fingers dig punishingly into her arms as bloodlust overtakes and overwhelms. He gulps her blood down like a man on the brink of starvation and gradually she becomes weaker and weaker until she fades completely. He hears her heart finally cease beating and he slowly lifts his head, his eyes half closed, the lower half of his face red with her blood. After a moment he looks down at her face and he blinks. He lets go of her and impassively watches her slowly slide to the floor.

“Hal?” He stiffens when he hears that familiar voice and he wipes at his mouth and his chin. He glances down at the corpse at his feet once more before stepping over her and leaving the room.

Hal stares at Snow for a moment and notices that he isn’t alone. He doesn’t recognise his companion but the way that he looks at him rankles somewhat. He tears his eyes away from his face to focus on his benefactor. He then remembers and he lowers his gaze to a point not quite floor level.

“Mr Snow…” he begins, keeping his tone carefully apologetic. His eyes lift up when he hears him sigh.

“Hal I specifically said that you had to be ready to receive our guest today. Where is that girl…I was assured she was a good and honest worker.” Snow’s chilly gaze casts around the room and then sharpen on the doorway behind Hal and he sees how Hal glances over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, I was distracted,” Hal mumbles, his eyes lowering once more.

“Do you mean to tell me that _this_ is who you dragged me all the way from London to meet?” The visitor’s voice drips with annoyance and condescension and Hal lifts his head once more to regard him.  The visitor’s blue eyes are pure ice and they regard him with clear and complete disdain. His skin is pale, his face narrow and sharp, bordering on vulpine. He is clad entirely in unforgiving black and it seems to award him a sense of presence. Hal swallows, his spine prickling with unease. Instead he straightens his back and lifts his chin and stares at him.

“You have me at a disadvantage _sir_ …” he begins, his tone bordering on insolence and he watches the visitor’s eyes narrow.

“Careful boy,” he snarls softly.  Anything else that Hal is about to say in response is halted by Snow.

“How many times do I have to remind you that these people are here to help with your daily tasks and not for you to indulge in your… _baser_ instincts? This is becoming an alarmingly regular occurrence my boy and quite frankly I’m rather disappointed. I thought you had more control than that?” Hal hears the anger that threads through his voice and he lowers his head once more in a move of seemingly abject humility.

“Apologies,” he whispers. Snow sighs in a long suffering manner that Hal is all too familiar with.

“Never mind. You need to dress and be in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes otherwise I shall send someone in to drag you out and believe me _he_ won’t be someone you can eat.” Hal glances up and he sees his eyes flash impatiently as he looks back to his companion. Hal lowers his head once more.

“This is why I wanted you to meet this degenerate Edgar…such an impossible child,” he hears him sigh.

“Fifteen minutes Hal and not a moment longer,” he calls out as they walk away from him. Hal lifts his head and he stares at their retreating backs. At the door the visitor… _Edgar_ pauses. He turns his head and he looks at Hal for a long moment. Hal stares defiantly back.

Edgar gives him a small chilly smile before he takes his leave.

 

 


	2. Chapter Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyndam and Hal are properly introduced....

**Chapter Two:**

“So…thoughts?”

Edgar regards him levelly as Snow hands him a small crystal goblet. For a moment he doesn’t speak and chooses to sip instead. The blood he samples is warm and fresh and it makes his latent senses tingle.

Snow smiles softly, knowingly. “Like it? There’s plenty more where that came from. I have a whole family stored in the cellar. Rumour has it that a certain flavour can be…inherited.” He pours himself a glass and then turns to regard Wyndam.

“Now that you’ve met Hal, what is your opinion of him?” he enquires. Wyndam sighs quietly. He and Snow have an odd kind of relationship. He’s an Old One of the highest calibre, one of the most feared vampires in existence. In fact, come to think of it he probably is _the_ most feared vampire in existence. He should be on his knees terrified of him but strangely enough he isn’t and he thinks that Snow knows this. Does this afford him a modicum of respect he wonders? He really isn’t sure but he does not doubt for a second that he will turn on him in an instant if the situation calls for it so for that reason Wyndam never lets his guard down completely around him.

 He allows himself a moment to take in his surroundings. They’re in a small ante room of sorts annexed from the Great Hall. This is where Snow conducts his most private of business. Wyndam’s eyes take in the luxuriously expensive tapestry that graces one wall. It shows scenes of hunting and bloodshed but there are no animals depicted, not of the four legged variety anyway. On the other walls are large oil paintings, one or two of them are of Snow himself and once more Wyndam is impressed by the age of the vampire in front of him. It would seem that he has truly been around since time immemorial.

A fire burns in large stone hearth to Wyndam’s right.  In front of him, Snow stands beside an overlarge table, a chair Wyndam can only describe as a throne with its ornate gold mouldings and thick ruby coloured velvet cushions. The silence between the two vampires stretches.

“Truthfully?”

“You’re the only vampire who is completely truthful with me Edgar; I like and have come to expect it,” Snow answers smoothly. His voice is quiet, liquid and languid. Wyndam hasn’t ever heard it raised to a shout before but he can imagine it would be quite a thing to witness if it ever was.

“What is so special about this one?” he asks instead and Snow blinks.

“He has potential Edgar, absolute real potential but he’s rather rough around the edges. He needs a firm hand and stricter boundaries.”

“And you thought of me. I was hoping for…” His words falter when he sees how Snow’s eyes sharpen as they focus on his.

“You were hoping for what exactly? Time off? This is what you do Edgar, you assess the new recruits, the ones that I deem worthy enough of further…promotion. You’re good at what you do and Hal…” He smiles secretively to himself.  “Hal could be something terrible and yet wonderful at the same time,” he whispers.

Wyndam regards him. “I’ve only just released my last apprentice into the world sir…can’t Gabriel take him on or how about William?” he suggests. He sees the frown that begins to darken Snow’s brow and he knows that his request to attend here has in fact just been a formality. Snow has made a decision and by reputation once his mind is made up then nothing and no-one changes it.

“If I wanted Gabriel or William to take Hal on then they would be here instead of you. No…it must be you, I will not brook a refusal.” He takes another sip from his goblet and he turns and places it on the table. He skirts around it to sit down. He indicates one of the chairs opposite him for Wyndam to sit on and he does, slowly and cautiously.

“If I am to take him on then I need to know more about him. What is his story and where in God’s name did you find him?” He does nothing to keep the disdain out of his voice. Snow leans back in his chair. He sighs quietly, reflectively.

“He was recruited by Alexei, on a battlefield somewhere. Somewhere… cold.”

 “So why isn’t Alexei looking after his recruit, isn’t that what a sire is supposed to do?” Wyndam demands impatiently. His chair is hard, he’s had a long trip and he’s hungry as well as tired which is never a good combination even for an audience with the feared Mr Snow.

“Well yes naturally but we hit a slight problem in that respect.” Again he reveals that small secret smile “He killed Alexei.” His voice is soft but his eyes seem to glow with admiration. Wyndam can’t help himself and his eyes widen in shock.

“He did what? Why?” His voice rises sharply.

“I’m not entirely sure. He says that he became bored and restless but I somehow think there was another reason, one he refuses to divulge.” His tone becomes speculative.

“Alexei was three hundred years old, how in the name of God was that young upstart able to end him?” Wyndam demands irritably. Snow gives a slow but elegant shrug in response.

“This is why I want you to take over…smooth over his rough edges, educate him. He has potential Edgar.”

“If you’re so enamoured of him then why don’t you take him?” A brief quiet drops between them. Anyone else who would speak to him in such a manner would promptly receive a sharpened wooden stake between their ribs but instead Snow smiles tightly.

“I’ve been taking care of him for the last six months Edgar…it’s your turn now.” He keeps his voice low and then straightens in his seat as a sharp rap on the door interrupts their meeting. Almost immediately it opens and Edgar turns his head as Hal stands in the doorway.

Wyndam remains seated as he watches the young vampire comes inside. At least this time he’s waited until Snow bids him to enter. He watches as he approaches his desk and he pauses and he waits. Snow regards him.

“That’s much better Hal. You look much more presentable. Sit down.” He indicates the vacant chair opposite Wyndam’s own and waits until he does so.

Wyndam takes the opportunity to assess him. He’s wearing an outfit of light blue with accents of gold. It looks gaudy and out of place somehow but he supposes not completely unexpected. At least his clothing is clean and tidy. He’s seen and been a witness to much worse.

He seems pleasing to look at, tall and slender bordering on undernourished. He frowns very slightly. He will need to fatten the boy up a little bit if he is to be of any use to him but he has what looks like strong bones and an interesting face. His eyes are mostly brown in colour but he did notice a mix of green in there too. His hair is dark and curls slightly at the ends. Rough stubble shadows his jawline and his upper lip. He can imagine women finding such a look attractive but something inside of Wyndam tightens. He supposes that there is something to begin to work upon here but if he indeed killed his sire as Snow has reported then he will be a challenge too.

Wyndam never backs down from a challenge and he suspects this alone is the reason why Snow requested his presence. Slowly he turns his head away from Hal and fixes Snow with a steady look.

“Fine. You have my agreement but I have a condition.” He doesn’t fail to notice the sly satisfaction that slides across Snow’s face.

“Name it.”

Wyndam looks back at Hal to see him regarding him with a look of puzzlement in his eyes. He smiles thinly. “If I undertake what you ask then it must be under my own terms and conditions. And it must also happen in England.” He looks back to Snow and he waits.

“Agreed,” Snow responds quietly as Wyndam knew that he would. He is after all, the best.

“What must happen in England?” Hal enquires. Wyndam picks up on the tension in his voice. He regards his new charge steadily.

“Your training,” he responds. He watches the shock bloom in his eyes and his mouth drops open for a moment which he quickly shuts. Wyndam watches how his head snaps around in Snow’s direction. His eyes are wide and wild with some unnamed emotion. It looks almost like…panic.

“But…I swore never to return to England,” he blurts out.

“And why is that?” Snow enquires politely but Wyndam sees the spark of curiosity in his eyes. His attention returns to Hal. His breathing is heavier now and he has gone very pale.

“England holds nothing but unpleasant memories for me. When I left I promised never to return.” Wyndam watches him and despite everything he feels his interest in the matter begin to ferment. Whatever it is, Hal isn’t telling the whole story.

“Unpleasant or not, they’re no longer important. My base of operations is in England and you will accompany me back there and that is the final word on the matter. I depart in three days and you will be ready to leave with me then.” His words are ice cold and just as hard. Hal’s eyes go round at the instruction and Wyndam watches as for a brief moment he seems to shrink down into his chair before his spine straightens. Slowly he rises to his feet and he turns towards Snow.

“When I said that I would never return to England then I meant it, I meant every single damned word. You _cannot_ make me go with him and I will leave here before you do and you will never see me again!” he snarls at him.

Wyndam is in front of him in an instant. His hand wraps around his throat and he pushes him backwards. His chair tilts over as Hal’s feet scrabble for purchase on the ground. Wyndam keeps moving and ignores the hands that scratch at his.

“You forget who you are speaking to _boy_. You have no say in the matter.” Wyndam pushes his face into his. He slams him up against the wall beside the fireplace. Hal’s eyes blink shut as his head makes a heavy connection against the wall. Wyndam watches them flutter open and fix upon his face.

“I’ve yet to see what Snow finds so _fascinating_ about you but I suppose in time I shall get to see it. You’re under my command now and I will not suffer any disobedience or childish tantrums. You are _not_ the one in charge here.” His voice drops to lethally cold levels and his gaze is steady and unwavering. Hal remains frozen in place, his eyes wide. Carefully Wyndam releases his grip on him and he takes a slow step backwards. He straightens the sleeves of his coat and sends a sideways look to Snow who hasn’t moved from his chair but there’s an expression of secret glee in his eyes. He sees him get to his feet and approach him.  Both of them turn to regard Hal who remains up against the wall, staring at them both with what Wyndam can only describe as wide terrified eyes. He looks as though he’s held prisoner against the wall by some invisible force. Once more Wyndam wonders what Snow’s fascination for this fellow is because he has yet to see anything to even remotely interest him.

“We shall dine and celebrate this fortuitous occasion. Come along Hal,” Snow responds and heads towards the exit.

* * *

 

There is a low hum of conversation as the trio enter the hall. Wyndam hangs back to allow Snow precedence and almost immediately all conversation fades away as countless pairs of eyes fall upon them. Wyndam regards them all emotionlessly. Some of the people present know who he is and he sees the wariness in their expressions especially when they catch sight of Hal at his shoulder. Wyndam glances at him and almost immediately Hal’s eyes drop to the floor and he takes an imperceptible step back. Wyndam doesn’t speak as he enters the hall.

He follows Snow towards the head table. He recognises all of those who sit there with him. He watches as they all rise to their feet and wait until Snow is seated. His eyes catch his and he waits. After a moment Snow beckons for him to approach the table and he does so, taking his seat at the end of the long narrow table.

Wyndam watches Hal cross the room and observes him joining two other men clustered at the end of a similar table. He watches him and he sees how he smiles at them. One of them pours Hal a large goblet of wine and pushes it across the table towards him. He picks it up and takes a healthy swallow. Almost immediately the three heads are clustered together and Wyndam frowns at the perceived intimacy. His instincts tell him that something is going on and he has learned to always trust his instincts.

* * *

 

The meal passes quietly for Wyndam. He usually prefers to use these occasions to further his already extensive network of information. He has a finger in a lot of pies; he has informants dotted all over Europe and England. He demands respect and loyalty and he usually receives it without question. He hasn’t heard of this Hal character and he should’ve heard about a fledgling killing his sire not long after it happened. It perturbs him that he didn’t hear about Hal and Alexei and he wonders at that. As it is, tonight he is tired. He has travelled almost constantly from his base and his bones ache and he longs for a few hours of sleep. His cool blue eyes cast around the people present this evening. He wonders how long until he can safely take his leave.

“So you came?” Wyndam turns his head at the low very feminine voice at his right hand side and looks into deep green coloured eyes. They belong to an arresting face, cool creamy coloured skin, high cheekbones and he knows the hair is black as night beneath that hood. Once upon a time just a smile from those rosebud lips of hers would’ve been enough for him. That was a couple of centuries ago and he’s changed a lot since then.

“I was summoned and I know better than to ignore a directive from Snow,” he answers evenly. She smiles and he sees the gleam in her eyes.

“For our young Lord Harry no doubt. He’s a bit of a devil that one.” She turns her head and looks across the room to where he still sits in company with his cronies. Wyndam frowns.

“I beg your pardon, _Lord_ Harry?”

She looks back at him and her smile broadens. “It’s a little nickname we’ve given him though he’s completely unaware of it. Such an arrogant boy, it suits him don’t you think?” Wyndam flicks a quick glance back at him as he reaches for his wine goblet. It does he has to agree. He keeps that opinion firmly to himself as he returns his attention to his companion.

“What makes you think that I’m here for him Maria?” he enquires neutrally.

“Why else would you be here? You operate from London, that is your kingdom and you rarely leave it unless Snow requests it. The last time you were here was to take on the task of taking care of Robert and how long ago was that? It must be at least twenty years. Hal is our rising star but he needs polishing and who else to deliver that special brand of enhancement but our very own Lord Wyndam,” she answers. Her eyes hold his and her smile doesn’t waver. Wyndam sighs down a flash of irritation. Despite her exquisite beauty and absolutely mercenary ways, she always was capable of reading him reasonably well. His answering smile is dry and sparse.

“Why don’t you tell me what you know about our esteemed…what is it that you called him? _Lord_...Harry?” He takes a sip of his wine and he waits. He watches how she glances across the room and how her eyes settle on his newest charge for a moment or two. A ghost of something crosses her face and he can barely restrain a quiet sigh as he interprets the look. It seems as though old behaviours are hard to change.

“Still the same Maria,” he murmurs in a low voice and watches as her gaze snaps back to his face.

“He’s an interesting boy. I was… curious,” she demurs with a subtle shrug.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take him apart, you’re not exactly…discreet.” He watches how her eyes gleam and she straightens her shoulders.

“Don’t underestimate him Edgar. Snow is utterly intrigued by him,” she confides.

“And why is that?” he enquires curiously. Her eyes fix upon his face and she regards him for a long moment.

“The story is that he killed his sire. He’s barely five years in the making and he does that? Hal is charm personified when he wants to be. It’s hard not to be affected by his personality but there’s something behind those wondrous eyes of his…something almost _blasphemous.”_ He watches her as she talks about him and he sees how she seems lit from within just talking about him. Slowly he turns his head and regards Hal who is still with his friends.

“Who are those who he sits with?”

“Ah. They are his cronies, partners in crime so to speak. Their names are James and Louis. When he arrived here they took an interest in him, seemed to take him beneath their collective wing. He’s let them take care of him since he got here.”

“ _Let_ them?”  Once more his attention flashes back to Maria.

“Of course. They think that they are the ones pulling his strings but in reality, Hal is very much in control. He’s the one in charge in that little group; they just don’t know it yet.”

“Interesting,” Wyndam murmurs, watching the young vampire once again. He’s witnessed the pair fill their cups over and over again but as far as he can tell, Hal has only had the one and after that first healthy swallow, he has sipped sparingly since then.  He watches how he seems to observe his companions with half a smile on his face. Wyndam sees how as he lifts his head, he sees a flash of something in his eyes. It piques his interest.

“Very interesting indeed.”

 

 

 


	3. Chapter Three.

**Chapter Three:**

He’s well aware that his new master has been watching him for most of the evening. It has taken him all of his strength not to lift his head and meet his gaze head on.  He wants to but something tells him that to do so will result in yet more trouble.  His throat still aches slightly from their last encounter. He can’t afford another confrontation so soon but he hasn’t forgotten and he never will.

One day he will make sure that his jailer pays for what he did to him but for now he must bide his time, be acquiescent and wait.

Half formed plans of revenge, each more horrible than before are fashioned and then discarded in his mind.

“....Won’t you accompany us Hal?”

His thoughts are interrupted by Louis and Hal makes himself smile, a soft non committed one sided tilt of his mouth.

“Accompany you where?” he asks, taking in their bright eager faces. He hasn’t missed the glances that they’ve shared throughout the evening.

“We’re planning to visit Mary.”

“Both of you?” Once more he sees how they look at each other.

“Well…she likes _you_ Hal and we thought…” James’s voice trails suggestively away. Hal looks down into his cup. It’s half filled with wine and he stares into its deep redness for a brief moment. He lifts his head and he looks into their expectant faces.

“I think that I must decline,” he replies in a quiet but regretful tone. Their faces relay almost identical expressions of shock.

“But why?” Louis enquires. Hal stares at him.

In truth he just isn’t interested. He knows that Mary is sweet on him. He’d have to be blind not to notice the shy smiles that she sends his way or how she blushes so prettily in his presence. She’s a sweet thing with her long golden blonde hair and her wide blue eyes but he is careful to keep his distance. She is almost always constantly chaperoned so he can’t begin to think how they plan to visit her.

Unless...

“She’s so fresh Hal…couldn’t you just imagine how she’ll taste…just a little sip?” James hints and his green eyes light up with a malicious smile. It gives Hal pause.

“She’s also the daughter of a local dignitary and if you succeed and take more than a _sip_ then we will most definitely outstay our welcome with Snow. Stay away from her,” he warns in a quiet voice, his gaze on James’s face unwavering. For a moment uncomfortable tension stretches between them. Hal has no intention of being the one to break eye contact first. Instead he tilts his head slightly to one side and he waits. Finally James sighs noisily.

“You are absolutely no fun Hal,” he sulks but Hal isn’t taken in for a moment.

“I must keep out of trouble for the foreseeable future and any mischief that you create will not further my cause with my new guardian.” He lets the disgust bleed through his voice.

“Your _new_ guardian? Are you leaving us Hal?” Louis enquires, his dark hair gleaming dully in the candle light. Hal sighs and looks down into his wine once more.

“I had hoped not but it has been decreed that I leave here and return to England in the company of the dour black clad _gentleman_ at the head table.” His voice is thick with loathing.  A moment passes and presently he becomes aware of a sudden heavy silence and he looks up and into their faces once again.

“What?” he enquires seeing dual stunned expressions.

“So _that’s_ why old Wyndam is here,” James mutters and his brow wrinkles with a frown. Hal stares at him in miscomprehension.

“Who are you talking about?” Hal asks curiously and his friend sighs loudly.

“Your new guardian, his name is Edgar Wyndam,” Louis interrupts, his voice lowering reverently. Hal continues to regard him and he ignores the slow curl of dread that is beginning to tighten in the pit of his stomach.

“If he has agreed to take you under his wing then you must have made a strong enough impression on Snow for him to summon him here. He must have important plans for your future Hal,” he quietly explains and this makes Hal frown.

“Wyndam is important?”

James rolls his eyes and stares incredulously at Hal as if he’s a half-wit.  “Important? Wyndam is an _Old_ _One_ Hal…one of the upper echelons of vampire society. The story is that he was recruited at the time of the Conqueror and that Snow trusts him and his opinion above just about everyone else’s. We’d heard a rumour that Wyndam was on his way but that’s what we thought it was, just a story but it isn’t, he’s here and he’s here for _you_.” He sits up a little bit straighter.  “I’m curious to find out why.” he whispers almost to himself.

“What are you suggesting?” Hal enquires curiously. He watches as a smile blooms across his face.

“I’m suggesting that we find out,” he answers and his smile widens at the expression on Hal’s face.

“And how do you propose to do that...approach him and ask?” Louis interrupts. James looks at him.

“How about we enquire after dinner?” he suggests with that grin still in place. Hal regards him and his stomach begins to churn.

“I don’t think that is such a good idea.  Like you’ve said, he’s an Old One…he’s strong and he’s ruthless.” This time he does sneak a glance at the head table. Wyndam is deep in conversation with his guest and Hal recognises her as Maria.  “And as you’ve said, a trusted companion of Snow’s,” he tacks on.

“Are you afraid of him Hal? I thought you were fearless?” James goads softly.

 Hal leans forwards and he glares at him. “I’m not afraid,” he begins. He picks up his cup and he swallows down a mouthful of wine. He lowers it back to the table as he fixes both of them with a stern look. “Nor am I stupid,” he tells them.

“I have to wonder as to why you’ve been chosen and not either of us. We’ve been here a lot longer than you have and neither one of us have been afforded such an honour,” James demands, his tone scratchy and irritable. Hal stares at him.

“If I were able to swap places with you then I would in an instant. I have no wish to return to my home shores but I’ve been left in no doubt as to where my loyalties now lie and unfortunately _his_ home is in England. I leave in three days.” His voice lowers and roughens.

“Well…we’ve heard your story…” James begins and his voice lowers slyly and Hal’s eyes narrow and at the same time his stomach clenches.

“And what story would that be?” he enquires softly. The two other vampires fall quiet as they watch.

James straightens slightly.  “Of how you were sired. Of what you did to Alexei. You _still_ haven’t told us why you ended him. You don’t _have_ to do as you are told; you almost always do as you please.  You could do to Wyndam what you did to Alexei,” he insinuates and his voice is like a thread of silk. Hal’s mouth goes dry. He lifts his cup and takes another tiny sip of wine, just enough to wet his mouth.

“What happened with…Alexei…is none of your business,” he snarls very quietly and James makes a show of widening his eyes.

“Is it not? You ended your sire after barely a handful of years. What is stopping you from doing the same to Wyndam?” he asks.

_A hand around my throat and memories of fear long thought suppressed…_

“And what is stopping me from doing the same to you?” Hal hisses back and the look of bemusement slides from James’s face. Hal watches him, sees how he scrambles for a slice of self-respect and how his eyes turn into frozen chips of emerald ice.

“Likewise Hal. I could end _you_ and you would not know it until it was too late. You are a liar, you _are_ afraid,” James snarls back but Hal remains unperturbed by the flags of high colour in the vampire’s cheeks, the burn of anger in his eyes.

“On the contrary James, I think you are the one who is afraid. I ended my sire but you… _you_ are nobody and nothing,” he informs him, his voice drenched in ice cold contempt. He flicks a glance Louis’s way but says no more as he slowly rises to his feet. He picks up his cup and makes his way to another trestle.

* * *

 

Wyndam sees him move away from his little group. Hal does not look happy; in fact he looks to be a little bit insulted. His cold gaze flicks back to the companions he has just left. The one with the red hair looks annoyed too while the dark haired one just looks…uncomfortable. Has one of them been annoying his newest little protégé? He sees the rigid line of Hal’s back and a very slight smile curves his lips. It would seem so. His attention is drawn to the red haired companion and how he is looking at him, a look of mild speculation in his eyes. Wyndam lifts his cup very slightly and gives an imperceptible nod of his head in acknowledgment.

He thinks he must investigate this vampire further.

* * *

 

The dinner guests disperse and scatter to their various corners of the large estate. Some are residents, others are guests. Snow has taken his leave and upmost in Wyndam’s mind is the need to rest after his long journey and marshal his thoughts. He has business that needs to be attended to and meetings to arrange. As he walks to his chambers, his mind is filled with the most important of matters.

“My Lord Wyndam.” He is initially so lost in his thoughts that at first he doesn’t hear the whispered entreaty.

“My Lord Wyndam…sir…” This time he hears him more clearly and he pauses and then slowly he turns. He sees Hal’s red headed companion from dinner approach him and give a bow.

“Yes?” The young man straightens and smiles at him. Wyndam doesn’t respond to the smile and assesses him. Tall, slim; inherently pale with red gold hair and dark green eyes. There is nothing of interest to him here unless he possesses information that might prove to be of some use to him.

“My name is James Winterbourne sir; I wonder whether we may walk awhile?”

“I’m rather tired Mr Winterbourne, couldn’t this wait until another more suitable time?”

“I suppose that it could sir but in truth it will not take up much of your time.” His eyes seem to glitter and Wyndam’s own narrow slightly. Then he quietly sighs.

“Fair enough but only as far as my chambers and if your business isn’t made known to me by then then it will have to wait until another time.” He turns and begins to walk and he waits for him to begin, wondering what on earth he could have to say that would be of interest to him.

“It’s about Hal my Lord, I believe you made his acquaintance earlier today?”

“And what of it?” Wyndam asks, his tone slightly sharp.  

“I would like to ask of your intentions towards him sir…he’s a particularly close friend of mine and when he informed me that he is to depart with you shortly for England then I immediately became curious.” His voice fades as Wyndam once more pauses and he turns to look at him more fully.

“Curious? I fail to see what business it is of yours of my intentions towards Mr Yorke?” He wonders whether Hal has any knowledge of his friend’s approach like this. He should be insulted but as usual curiosity gains the better of him.  “But I suppose I must ask.” He waits. James takes a deep breath.

“You must be aware that Hal has a …sweetheart, someone he cannot bear to be apart from. Her name is Mary and her father is a local dignitary. She’s human but I think Hal has plans to…make her like him.” Once more his voice fades away and Wyndam does not fail to notice the faint gleam of malice in his eyes as he imparts this slice of information.

“A sweetheart? Interesting considering he doesn’t really seem to be the type to harbour any kind of relationship with the opposite sex.” He frowns slightly and turns to walk again.

“I shall take your words under advisement Mr Winterbourne, thank you.”

“My Lord Wyndam…” James begins again and Wyndam stops and he rolls his eyes. He looks at him once more.

“It’s well known that you rarely visit Mr Snow unless for a very good reason and it would seem that Hal is that reason. Your reputation precedes you sir and I wondered…whether you’d…reconsider your choice…of protégé?” The words seem to tumble over themselves and Wyndam blinks as he realises what Winterbourne is suggesting.

“Reconsider my choice Mr Winterbourne? What makes you think that my plans for Hal were of my own making?” His voice drops as the ice in his eyes intensify. He sees how James Winterbourne regards him, his eyes slightly wide but Wyndam can see the excitement and the _hope_ in their depths.  “Why should I change my mind sir? What could you _possibly_ hope to offer me in exchange for that favour?” he enquires.

“I can promise you that I would never let you down. I’m committed to the cause; I would be utterly loyal to you and completely obedient,” James replies, straightening almost proudly. Wyndam folds his arms and regards him, a faint smile of amusement on his face.

“Utterly loyal you say? Does Hal know that you are here speaking with me like this? Do you think that he would thank you for attempting to usurp him? That is not loyalty that I am witnessing Mr Winterbourne, quite the contrary in fact.” He watches the arrogance and confidence slip out of him.

“I can imagine you are loyal only when it suits you to be. I need someone who can be loyal to me, to our _cause_ no matter what. There must be an essence of absolute trust between a pupil and his master Mr Winterbourne and I have yet to see that from you.”

“And you see that with Hal?” The words burst from James. Wyndam’s eyes narrow marginally at his tone but he lets it pass him by for now.

“Not at this moment but I sense it from him.”

“He killed his sire, after barely five years. How do you know that he will not kill you?”

“I don’t and he very well might. It is a chance that I am going to have to take.” He regards him steadily.

“I have observed him this evening Mr Winterbourne and I will say one thing and one thing only. However long he lives, whatever he achieves, he will be much more of a vampire than you ever will be.” He smiles softly at his growing expression of shock.  “Now I must depart. Good evening Mr Winterbourne.” He turns on his heel and he walks away.

* * *

 

The estate is silent in the depths of darkness. The guests have retreated to their chambers for the night.

That silence is broken by a frantic knocking on a door. Wyndam is woken immediately as the sound echoes around his room. He is out of bed and donning a robe in a moment but he is irritated at his sleep being interrupted. Whoever it is better have a very good reason for this disturbance.  He throws open the door and prepares to give the intruder a piece of his mind and stares blankly at Maria who stands there. She looks equally dishevelled, her beautiful hair tumbling unbound around her shoulders. He blinks and immediately he is in control once more.

“What?” he hisses at her, his voice suddenly spiked with impatience. Her eyes widen in surprise.

“Do you not hear it?” Her voice is low but indignant and he frowns at her.

“Hear what?” And then he does.

It isn’t quite a scream but nor is it a moan. He hears how it fades slowly away and the pain that threads through the sound makes the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

“That,” Maria replies. Wyndam frowns.

“What is that? Why on earth are you troubling me about it?” he demands.

“Because _that_ is Hal. He’s screaming loud enough to wake the entire estate.”

“I don’t understand…”

“He has…nightmares Edgar and when he does, he throws the entire household into uproar. No one can wake him from them when they occur. It is the strangest thing because when they happen, he looks as though he is awake but he isn’t and in the morning he has no recollection of what has occurred.”

“Really?”

“Really. You must speak with him; attempt to get him out of this terror.”

“Me? I fail to see…”

“This will happen again Edgar and you are his…guardian for what it is worth. Maybe you can get through to him and find out why this happens to him. Before the household descends into utter chaos once more,” Maria retorts and Wyndam stares at her. Then he sighs.

“Very well,” he concedes and pulls the robe he wears closer around his body and he steps outside of his room.

“ Remind me, which way is it to his chamber?”

“All you have to do is follow the noise and you will find him,” she answers as another cry rents the air. Wyndam heads towards it.

He notices a few people accumulated outside of a closed door, two have their ears pressed up against the wood and they seem to be listening to something intently. He recognises one of them as James Winterbourne. He sees Wyndam approach and he straightens up and takes a step backwards. He stops before them and regards them.

“Nobody has tried to calm the boy?” Wyndam demands testily and watches how they look amongst themselves.

“We have in the past Mr Wyndam sir but when we have tried…Hal becomes violent.” Wyndam recognises the man who has spoken as the other man at dinner with Hal and Winterbourne earlier.

“What’s your name?”

“Louis sir,” he answers. Wyndam regards him. He’s tall, well made with broad shoulders, strong looking legs and large hands.

“Follow me Louis. The rest of you return to your chambers. Everything is under control here, there is no need for an audience.” He waits and watches how they slowly, almost reluctantly disperse. He then looks at Maria who is hovering nearby.

“Stay nearby and be available just in case.” He turns his head when he hears a low heavy thud. He glances back at Louis before he opens the door and slips inside.


	4. Chapter Four.

**Chapter Four:**

The room is in shadows. Wyndam pauses and he listens. He feels someone brush up against his arm and he turns his head suddenly and his eyes narrow when he realises that it is Maria. She walks toward him carrying two lit candles, the flames guttering slightly as she approaches him. She regards Wyndam silently as she hands him one of the candlesticks. He accepts it and he glances at Louis.

“Stay beside the door. No one leaves and no one enters unless I specifically say so,” he instructs him and is answered by a single nod. Wyndam turns his head back and his eyes scan the large room. It’s very large for one man. He listens very carefully as he walks towards the wide bed.

He isn’t in there but the linen has been kicked back and is half sliding off the mattress. Once more he feels the hair on the back of his neck prickle as his eyes search the shadows. The room is chilly, the fire in the hearth long since reduced to a pile of dark orange gold embers and colder grey powdery ash. He frowns. Where could that boy have disappeared to?

Then he hears it. It’s a harsh intake of breath caught on a sob. It sounds like a child emerging from a nightmare and he wonders whether Hal has indeed woken up. If that is the case then why hasn’t he shown himself? He turns towards its source and sees his shadowy outline curled up in the corner of the room closest to the room he emerged from earlier in the day. Slowly Wyndam advances towards him, the candle held out in front of him and he watches as he is painted a faint yellow gold as he comes into clearer view.

“Hal?” He keeps his voice quiet, frowning as he takes in his countenance. He has curled himself into a small tight ball, his head resting upon folded knees. As the light casts its glow upon him, Hal slowly lifts his head towards its source. Wyndam halts as he scans his face.

There is a strange vacancy in the young vampire’s expression that unnerves him slightly. He seems to be looking straight through him. He’s trembling violently, his body coated with a sweat that darkens his hair and plasters it to his face. Dark shadows bruise the delicate skin beneath both eyes. He looks distinctly…unwell.

“Hal…for God’s sake, what is wrong with you boy?” He ventures towards him and reaches out to place a hand on one shoulder.

He sees how Hal’s eyes widen in terror, of how he cringes further into the corner.

“No…no…” he hisses with wide terrified eyes. “Please…no. Do not touch me!” His voice is a choked agonised whisper and Wyndam freezes. He curls his outstretched fingers into a fist.

“I will not harm you boy. I’m…worried about you. You need to calm yourself and return to your bed,” Wyndam replies but the words seem to just bounce off him.

Hal shakes his head rapidly. His eyes become glassy. “No…please don’t. I swear I’ll behave…this time…I swear…just please…”

Wyndam takes another experimental step towards him. He tilts his head to one side as he regards him. He feels unfamiliar apprehension slide through him.

“Hal. Let us talk awhile.” He uncurls his fingers once more and he crouches down so that he is at eye level with him. It is the strangest thing. He seems to be fully awake but something tells him that he isn’t, that he seems deeply locked into whatever prison his nightmare holds him. He hears his ragged breathing, sees how he trembles like a child. He reaches for him once again and his fingers touch his bare shoulder.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Something flares in Hal’s eyes and his face changes in a moment.  He gives a loud roar as he lunges to his feet and as he does he pushes against Wyndam and the force of it sends him tumbling backwards. The candle that he has been holding rolls away and promptly extinguishes and the room is plunged once more into dark shadows.

Wyndam blinks as his head hits the floor and for a brief moment he sees an explosion of white stars behind his eyelids. It lasts a bare moment before he rolls onto his side and sees Hal’s shadow rush across the room.

“Don’t let him out you fools!” he yells impatiently as he sits up. He gets to his feet as he hears a loud rattling thud, as if a body or two has made contact with the door and once more he hears Hal call out. As Wyndam straightens, Maria is by his side with a replacement candle, and she walks with him towards the source of the noise. He frowns, both rattled and puzzled at the happenings tonight.

He sees Louis pinned up against the door. He holds onto Hal, his huge arms clamped around his body. Wyndam strides towards him. He looks at Louis.

“Release him,” he instructs in a low voice and slowly Louis releases his hold on him. For a moment all that can be heard in the chamber is the sound of Hal’s laboured breathing as he falls to the floor in an untidy boneless heap. Wyndam watches him as he slowly lifts his head and looks up at him. He sees the expression of confusion swiftly followed by horror as he glances around. He stumbles to his feet and Wyndam sees his embarrassment. He swallows down his irritation.

“Oh God…” Hal mumbles. He glances down at himself and realises that he’s only partially clothed. He shivers. Wyndam doesn’t realise that Maria has moved until she appears beside Hal with a blanket from the bed which she wraps around his shoulders. Hal glances at her but doesn’t speak. He lifts his face to Wyndam’s once again and he waits. Instead Wyndam looks firstly from Louis then to Maria.

“You may leave us with my thanks.” He waits expectantly as they do as he bids.

* * *

 

The door closes with a final click. The two men regard each other. Hal is slightly hunched over, gripping the blanket tightly with one hand, the whites of his knuckles showing vividly against the fabric.

Wyndam scans his face.  “Sit down before you fall down,” he instructs, noticing how Hal trembles still. The look Hal sends him is wary as he moves around him and slowly, laboriously heads towards the dishevelled bed. He sits on the side of it with a studied slowness that reminds Wyndam of a man with aged decrepit bones.

“Does this happen often?” Wyndam’s voice is sharper than he intends it to be.

Hal regards him. His gaze is steady upon his face but Wyndam sees how he grips the blanket that still rests around his shoulders.

“Don’t take me for a fool Hal, half of the household heard you tonight, both Maria and your friend Louis were witnesses to what happened,” he continues when it becomes clear that Hal isn’t going to answer his question.

“In truth…I don’t…remember. The first that I knew that I was out of my bed was when I saw you standing over me,” he admits. His voice was low and Wyndam regards him.

“You don’t remember? Do you ever remember?” he asks. Hal doesn’t reply and instead shrugs, a quick tight movement. Wyndam regards him and he sees the shutters come down behind his protégé’s eyes. He sighs and quickly shakes his head.

“You need to sleep. The next couple of days will be busy as we become acquainted with one another. We will still leave as scheduled.” James’s words earlier about a sweetheart cross through his mind and it gives him pause. He looks down at him.

“If you have people to whom you are attached…then it is best that you make your farewells as quick and as painless as possible.” The almost reluctant kindness has Hal looking up at him and he can see the surprise that flares there.

“There is nobody,” he answers in a low voice. Wyndam doesn’t reply, instead he just nods.

“It is best that way. Get some rest; it has been a very long night.” Hal nods in response and Wyndam takes his leave.

The corridor is deserted as he strides back to his chambers.  Despite everything, the boy is beginning to intrigue him. The fact that he claims not to remember this evening’s happenings interests him especially. He saw the blankness in his expression, the emptiness in his eyes but at the same time he also saw fear. It was just a glimpse but it had been there. He wonders what happened to place it there.

* * *

 

Hal is seated on a smooth marble bench. The sky is pure blue in colour and there isn’t a cloud to be seen. The sun is bright and relentless. He feels his skin prickle at its onslaught. Wyndam has told him that he wishes to see him today and has given him leave to conduct any last minute business. The imperiousness of his tone rankles still.  He’s here to see Mary, to talk to her. He hopes she won’t be too long.

He turns his head when he hears her call his name and as he gets to his feet, he sees how Mary’s eyes light up like candles when she sees him. He waits as she almost hurries towards him, and he clutches his hat between both hands.

“Hal. This is a surprise.” Her voice is low but he hears it nonetheless. He waits until she pauses beside him and he casts a look at her chaperone, an older woman by the name of Edith who almost never leaves her side and at this moment is regarding him with suspicion. He should feel slighted by the sour look but she looks at everyone in the same way. In his least tolerable moments he thinks about flashing his fangs at her, letting her glimpse at the demon that inhabits his skin. He looks at Mary and he takes in her pale complexion, her big blue eyes and her golden coloured hair. He waits until Edith is out of hearing before he turns towards her.

“What brings you here Hal?” Mary asks. He regards her. She is by all description, heart stoppingly beautiful. He has seen how other men look at her, has listened to how Louis and James talk about her and seem to covet her but their covetousness harbours far more nefarious desires. She is a prize in the marriage market and she has told him of the suitors who have visited her father requesting her hand in marriage. He knows that she is waiting for him to make his move, to stake his claim upon her but that day will never come. It simply can’t. He acknowledges that she possesses great beauty but it leaves him strangely…unaffected. It leaves him uninterested and cold but in the same regards he holds onto her friendship. It seems to be honestly and freely given and blindingly pure in his world of double talk and innuendo. It’s something that he hasn’t ever had before and he is reluctant to give it up.

Hal met her at a gathering that her father held for Snow and his companions. She was surrounded by a group of ladies all gaily clad and chattering amongst themselves like brightly coloured birds. He had watched her surreptitiously from the edge of the group, careful not to be caught out. Her freshness of complexion interested him, the flawless clear skin tinted pink, the full lower lip and as he got closer to her, the calmness in her very blue eyes.

She possesses a sweetness, a freshness that he finds fascinating. She doesn’t stir him in the ways that she stirs possible suitors but there is something about her that calls out to him, that causes him to constantly seek her out. They talk about unimportant things under the careful guard of Edith and he finds that restful, unthreatening. Maybe it is that which he is drawn to.

Snow has warned him that their relationship must remain as a friendship alone, anything else will be asking for more trouble than he is willing to handle or forgive him of.

Hal regards her. She is dressed demurely as befitting her station and once more he is reminded of the gulf between them. She is waiting for him, the illegitimate son of a whore, to declare himself to her. Does she not see him for what he is, his true self? How can she not? He takes a deep breath and grips his hat even more tightly.

“I come with news,” he begins. He pauses as her eyes brighten with interest.

“Oh. What kind of news?” she enquires. Hal watches her. He can hear her heart beating steadily and if he especially concentrates then he can also hear the steady rush of blood that accompanies it. It’s hypnotic. His fingers tighten in the soft fabric of his hat and he battles down that more brutal part of himself. He doesn’t see her like that, he doesn’t _want_ to see her like that but nevertheless he still finds it difficult to keep under control.

“Yesterday I received news of my…guardianship and I am to leave within the next day or two. I don’t know if I will return.” He watches the shock cross her face and the colour fade from her skin.

“Leave?” she breathes and he nods.

He looks down at his feet. “Yes. I am to depart for England with my benefactor, it is non-negotiable.” 

“You don’t sound at all happy with that decision.”

He glances at her. “I’m not but he has instructed that I must accompany him and I must obey.” He sees how she regards him with open curiosity.

“You’re not a boy Hal…surely you can do as you please?”

“I’m not a man of means Mary; I don’t have the resources or the opportunities to make my way in the world just yet. Mr Snow has decided that I must benefit from the influence of a guardian. There is nothing that I can do about it.” His voice lowers to a whisper. It irritates him that once more in his life he has very little control or that he can’t do anything about it. One look in Wyndam’s eyes last night had decided that matter for him. He’s an Old One and highly regarded by Mr Snow.

“You could come here. My father would find you a place in his household. I can ask him,” Mary responds and for a moment Hal can’t speak. He can’t even think.

“Neither my guardian nor Mr Snow would allow that to happen Mary. I must do as I am bid.” He stiffens as Mary reaches for him, her fingers grasp his wrists. They feel warm against his chilled skin.

“If my father were to speak to Mr Snow…” she begins but Hal quickly shakes his head. He looks down at her hands for a moment. Different thoughts, different possibilities crash through his brain, make him blink, crowd his previously carefully contained thoughts.

“No Mary. Please, let that be an end to the matter.”

“Hal…”  His head snaps up and his expression is all of a sudden vehement.

“Nothing can be done; I am due to depart in two days. I did not have to inform you of this fact but courtesy demanded that I did. You have been a good friend to me Mary and I still struggle to wonder why.” The anger fades from his voice at her hurt expression. She still holds onto his wrists and he looks down again as her hands slide over his and over his fingers.

“I think you already know the reason why Hal…if circumstances were…” Her halting, shy words stumble to a halt as he slowly pulls his hands free of her grasp.

“ _Circumstances_ … what are you talking about?” He watches as her cheeks turn pink.

“Even if _circumstances_ were different Mary, your father would never consider me as a suitable match. I’m the furthest thing away from suitable you could possibly imagine.” He takes a step back and swallows down the giggle that threatens to burst free. If only she knew just how unsuitable. He bites back an emerging smile. Perhaps he should show her just how unbefitting he is. Instead he clears his throat and looks at her.

“You must cast aside any such notions that you have towards me Mary. You must do that immediately. Settle upon one of the suitors your father has chosen for you and be happy with him. I’m not the man for you, I never have been and I never will be. You’re my friend and that is all you shall ever be.”

“But I thought…”

“All I ever wanted from you was friendship Mary, nothing more.” His voice lowers but he sees the tears that burn in her eyes. He sighs and takes a step back and he shakes his head.

“Perhaps it was a mistake for me to come here,” he whispers.

“Hal…” Her whisper is rough and he freezes at her tone. She sounds…wounded. He frowns slightly.

“I have never pretended to want anything else from you Mary. I thought you knew that. I’ve never declared my intentions because in truth there weren’t any to declare. I just wanted your friendship.” And that confession sounds strange to his ears. He can count his friendships on half of the fingers of one hand. He watches the tears slide down her cheeks and how she fumbles with a tiny white little square of fine cloth to dab them away. It makes him frown very slightly and he wonders why she would cry over someone like him. He bites back the apology that rises to his lips and instead he turns and walks away from her.

* * *

 

The frown is still on his face when he returns to Snow’s estate. Mary’s show of emotion sits uncomfortably with him. He doesn’t like any kind of sentiment and he always tries his best to keep his own thoughts firmly locked away. His mind casts back to the previous night and of seeing Wyndam, Maria and that damned Louis in his chamber and him without an ounce of recollection of how they appeared there. It isn’t the first time that he’s woken up not in his bed but possibly the first time he’s had witnesses to that fact.

He dismounts and hands his horse to the stable hand. He turns and flexes his aching muscles. His appointment with Wyndam is soon.

“Hal…” He emerges into bright sunshine once again and pauses when he hears James’s shout. He glances at him over one shoulder and begins to walk again. He is hungry and he wants to wash before going to meet Wyndam for the first of their official getting to know each other meetings. He doesn’t really have time to tarry with James and he still remembers his needles and barbs from the night before. Does he truly think that he will forget the accusations flung at him? He sighs quietly.

“Hal! Where are you going in such a hurry?” James’s tone is slightly breathless as he catches up to him as they enter the main house.

“I have an audience with our esteemed Lord Wyndam,” Hal answers coolly.

“I could accompany you if you wish?” James suggests and Hal looks at him and raises an eyebrow.

“Why?” he asks curiously.

“Why not? I’m curious and I’d like the opportunity to get to know him if that’s possible.”

Hal barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “I have the very real feeling that if my Lord Wyndam wants to get to know you then he will under his own circumstances. Another time perhaps?” He strides away and James pauses and watches him disappear into the shadows of the great house. He takes a breath and chases after him.

“Hal!”

Hal stops dead just outside of his chamber and clamps down the irritation that floods to the surface when he hears James’s voice again. He spins around and waits as he catches up to him.

“What now?” he demands and sees James’s eyes round with shock at his sharpness.

“I said I’d accompany you to your meeting with Lord Wyndam…” He attempts to smile but it flickers and fades at Hal’s lack of response.

“And I said another time.”

“Hal…” James attempts to chide and Hal’s eyes narrow marginally as he regards him.

His expression turns contrite. “Don’t be like this, don’t be so cold. I saw you return from your visit with Mary and you looked…sad.” Hal’s expression doesn’t change.

“I went to see her to bid farewell to her. She’s a friend, of course I’m sad,” he replies curtly and he turns to his door.

“You don’t have friends Hal,” James’s tone is conspiratorial, almost humorous. It sounds false. Slowly Hal looks at him over his shoulder.

“Mary was my friend,” he enunciates coldly.

“She didn’t think so. She thought of you as being more than a friend, a prospective husband some might suggest.” Hal turns more fully around and his hands ball into tight fists.  He wants to plough them into James’s face but instead he forces himself to smile.

“Well we both know how ridiculous that suggestion is. Now I must take my leave, I don’t want to be late for my meeting with Wyndam.”

“I meant it when I said that I would happily accompany you…”

 Hal just shakes his head. “And I also meant it when I said another time. I don’t want any distractions.” He turns again and opens his chamber door. He slides inside and closes it in James’s face. James himself remains rooted to the spot.

The dismissal stings.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter Five.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal has to make a decision. Guesswork, imagination and supposition are at play in this chapter :)

**Chapter Five:**

Hal washes and changes out of his travel dusty clothes. He looks around his chamber and wonders what turmoil awaits him back in England. His stomach clenches at the thought. Perhaps he can persuade Wyndam to delay his return somehow and when his back is turned and he is sufficiently distracted then he can quietly slip away and disappear.

He starts when he hears the tap on his door and he is almost tempted to stay where he is, hide even until whoever it is gets the message and leaves him be. He doesn’t feel like good company today. His life is about to change beyond his control and he needs time to think about it and find a way around it. He turns when he hears the door open and any words he’s about to say die in his throat when he sees Maria enter. There’s a glint in her eyes that suggest to him that she knows full well what he’s thinking.  She looks vivacious and full of life in deep emerald green silk. She pauses just inside the door and leans up against it.

“You went to see your Mary today didn’t you?” She moves away from the door and advances towards him. The fabric of her gown rustles with each step that she takes.

“She’s not my Mary and yes I did,” he answers sullenly.

“And did it not go well?” He watches as she sits on the side of his bed and she regards him with open curiosity. He just shakes his head. “Ah. She was sweet on you, I can’t imagine that news of your departure would go down well,” she answers and Hal frowns.

“Why does everyone think that of her…that she was… _is_ …sweet on me?” he demands fractiously and surprise blooms on Maria’s face.

“Because she was, everyone knew about it, even you Hal.” She sees how his frown darkens and her eyes widen. “You _knew_ Hal. You saw it. You attract attention wherever you go and you captured Mistress Mary’s attention and her heart along with it.”

She continues to watch him with curiosity. “Is it so difficult for you to believe that?” she asks in a low shocked voice. Hal shrugs.

“If you knew of my circumstances Maria then you would too,” he mutters. Maria pats the mattress beside her.

“Then why don’t you tell me about your circumstances?” she suggests and she sees the expression on his face. His eyes slowly widen, like a deer caught unexpectedly in the path of a hunter. She sighs. “You’re reluctant to return to London. I can see that clearly. And then there’s the fact that you went on one of your nocturnal rampages last night too.”  She waits.

“I don’t remember,” he mutters, looking away.

“Or you choose not to. Something is going on with you Hal and whether you choose to share that with anyone is your choice but let me tell you something. Mr Snow has afforded you a great honour by bringing you to Edgar’s attention.”

“So I have been informed,” Hal answers dryly as he turns away and Maria frowns. She stands up and she goes towards him. She gently grasps his upper arms and turns him around so that he faces her.

“You _have_ been. I know Edgar and while he won’t admit it to me, he is intrigued by you already. He could teach you so much if you would let him.”

Hal watches her, his expression turning guarded. “Such as what?”

“I’m not going to tell you, why spoil the surprise? You could very much benefit from his influence and his advice. Don’t be difficult and ignore him or go against him, it will be to your advantage to learn from him.”

“Is he aware of your support? Did he send you here to me?” His voice sharpens with suspicion and Maria sighs loudly and lets go of him.

“Of course he didn’t! If he finds out that I’m here talking to you like this then he will not be at all happy. You know your own mind Hal and I’m telling you that you will be making the gravest mistake of your life if you turn his influence down.”

“You make it sound as though I have a choice,” Hal snorts.

“You always have a choice Hal,” she reminds him, her voice softening.

Hal regards her for a moment before he shakes his head. “No, in this instance, I don’t. I have been told that this is to be my future; I have no say in the matter. A hand gripped around my throat and my head beaten against a wall to guarantee it. Nobody says no to him, except perhaps for Snow himself.”

“Well he’s here under Snow’s command Hal, if he didn’t think you were worth the effort then he would’ve told him. He thinks that you are.” She watches as he rolls his eyes once again.

“And now you’re trying to sweeten me up…”

“God forbid! I’m trying to make you see the _sense_ of it. It would not be for long. Everyone can see your potential Hal, _everyone_. Edgar can add a shine to it. Imagine what you could achieve with that recommendation? You could do absolutely _anything_.” Her voice lowers to a seductive whisper and he watches her, all of a suddenly transfixed by her passion. He is unable to stop himself; he reaches for her, his intention clear. His eyes flash black but just as quickly Maria darts out of his path.

“No…not this time young man,” she tells him with a wag of a finger. He takes a step or two towards her and darts into her path with a grace that surprises her. He grabs her upper arms and pulls her up against his body. She looks up at him and her expression darkens.

“I’m not your whore…”

“Oh aren’t you?” She pushes against his chest and at the same time wrenches herself out of his grasp.

“No, I’m _not_ and I’ll thank you to remember that. You have a very strange view of women Hal. Mary shows you interest and you push her away almost in terror. Is it because she’s human or does her gold coloured hair hold particular memories for you? She could have been yours, yours to do with as you please. It’s not as though you haven’t done so with others in your path.” She flings the accusation at him and sees the anger that brews there.

“Be careful…” he warns.

“Or what will you do? I’m not one of those harlots you drain with your friends night after night. Nor do I squeal and faint at the sight of you unclothed. We may have spent a night or two beneath the sheets and a pleasurable time it was but it does not give you the right to take as you see fit. You try and you will see what will happen!” she snarls at him. Hal straightens at the vehemence in her tone. He takes a couple of steps back and his hands come up to cover his face for a brief moment. Maria watches him, tense as his hands drop and he looks at her. His expression is tired and defeated.

“My apologies Maria, it will not happen again.”  

She regards him. “Oh yes it will, when your blood is up it will happen again but this time you are forgiven. Are you ready for your audience with Edgar? You mustn’t be late, he detests tardiness.”  She watches how he rolls his eyes and hears how he sighs.

“Hal, it will do you no good at all to defy him, no good at all. He will always get the better of you.” she approaches him and looks into his eyes for a moment before gently patting his shoulder.

“Go and talk to him."

* * *

 

And here he is. He walks into the large room that Wyndam has turned into his place of business while he is here. He enters cautiously and sees him at the other end of the chamber. His back is to him and he is observing something from the tall narrow window. Hal walks towards the desk that is already cluttered with a variety of messages and missives and he waits.

Presently Wyndam turns and the two men regard each other for a moment or two.

“You’re here.”

“I was instructed to be present and here I am. Did you expect otherwise?” Hal responds quietly. Wyndam stares at him and the faintest of smiles drifts across his narrow face before he takes a deep breath and straightens slightly.

“Quite honestly I fully expected you to ignore my instructions and do as you please. I expected you to pack up and leave of your own accord.” He approaches his desk and looks down at the quills, parchment and ink pots that cover the surface. A faint smile tilts the corner of his mouth as he takes it all in.

“Even when I’m not at home my business follows me. Did you manage to conclude your own business this morning to your satisfaction?”  He points to a chair adjacent to his desk and at the same time sits down behind his.

Hal remains almost stubbornly upright for a moment and he watches how Wyndam looks at him as he sits.

“Oh what is this? I really don’t have time for this childish battle of wills Hal. Sit down.” His voice sharpens and he waits as Hal finally does sit.

Wyndam regards him. “How are you today?” he asks and he sees that his question has taken Hal by surprise. It flares briefly in his eyes before it is quickly masked.

“I am well sir.”

“No ill effects from the events of last night?”  Hal’s eyes drop down to his hands which are loosely clasped on his lap and he just shakes his head.

“You visited your friend?” He watches how Hal lifts his head and looks at him.

“I make it my business to know things Hal. It’s how I survive and have survived for as long as I have.”

“And how long have you survived?” Hal enquires. The ghost of a smile passes across Wyndam’s face.

“Why Hal...are you planning to do to me what you did to Alexei?” He sits forward and rests his elbows on his desk and regards him with keen blue eyes.

“I would say to that, try your best. In some cases older doesn’t necessarily mean wiser but in my case…quite possibly. I’m older than Alexei, a good couple of centuries older and I’ve met vampires with reputations such as yours and I don’t think any of them still survive, so what does that say to you Hal?” His smile broadens and he sits back again and then he sighs.

“I am not the enemy here. Snow seems to think that you have potential, that you need a little bit of polishing and while I’m waiting to see some of that potential I will admit to being curious about you.” He gets to his feet, a sudden rapid movement that makes Hal flinch and he watches him warily as he skirts around his desk and heads to a cabinet gracing one wall across from Hal. He watches as he pours a deep red liquid from a decanter into two small crystal goblets. He turns and regards Hal for a moment.

“While you were out concluding your business this morning, I had several different conversations with several different people, mainly about you.” He walks towards Hal and hands him one of the goblets. Hal frowns as he accepts it.

“It’s the strangest thing Hal, nobody really knows a thing about you, except that Alexei sired you somewhere near Russia and that you killed him. I would ask how and why but given what I _do_ know about you, I doubt you’d tell me.” He watches how Hal reacts to his words and instead of looking at him; he pretends great interest in his glass.

“It is of no importance to me why you ended him Hal. You had your reasons and maybe one day you will share them with me. You’re a mystery to almost everyone and that alone intrigues me.” He watches as Hal lifts his head and regards him.

“What would you like to know?” he asks, his voice low and level. Wyndam looks at him.

“There is a lot that I would like to know but how much you’re willing to share is another matter entirely. I know that you’re from England and you left the shores within the last ten years. How long ago were you recruited?” He sits back in his seat and he waits for his answer.

“Six years ago, at a battle near Orsha…which is…”

“I know where Orsha is and Snow is right, it is very cold there. How did you come across Alexei?” Once more Hal looks down and his expression tightens briefly.

“I was a mercenary, a lowly foot soldier for hire. If a Muscovite lance hadn’t got me then the cold certainly would have done.  He was a surgeon on the battlefield and apparently he had been watching me, he saw something, recognised something, a darkness I believe he said it was and offered me eternal life. I was dying, I was scared but I was also…angry so I accepted.” His voice is still low, barely audible but Wyndam hears every word.

“Why did you leave England in the first place?”

Once more Hal’s head comes up. He shrugs one shoulder. “Why not? England showed me no loyalty so why I should I afford her the same respect? I left determined to prove myself.”

“And instead you stumbled across us. A different kind of loyalty altogether.”

“The kind that suits me more.”

Wyndam smiles softly.  “Quite. Drink up Hal, we have a lot to accomplish if I’m to transform you into the vampire Snow thinks you’re capable of becoming.” Wyndam lifts his glass in a simple toast and a slight inclination of his head and watches Hal do likewise and he tosses back the contents of the glass. His eyes flare as its contents sizzle through his senses.

Hal watches as Wyndam gets to his feet with both empty glasses in his hands which he puts back beside the decanter. He turns and looks at Hal.

“You’re from London,” he tells him and Hal stares back at him. His answering shrug is languid but Wyndam notices his expression become more alert, watchful.

“Your accent betrays you sometimes. To all and sundry it’s as it is now, cultured and… careful but a different accent bleeds through on occasion.  It’s very subtle but it’s there. Take last night for instance, when you told me that you’d behave, it sounded different, a little bit rougher. It isn’t especially noticeable.” He sees the shock and then the surprise blossom on Hal’s face.

“But you noticed it. So I’ve changed the way that I speak, is that a problem?” Hal’s voice is cool. Wyndam shakes his head.

“Not to me because it shows me that you’re constantly changing. You adapt, you learn to fit in with those around you and you think quickly on your feet. All admirable important qualities for a vampire.” Wyndam walks back towards him.

“Can you read and write?” He sits down again.

“Passably,” Hal admits quietly but Wyndam doubts that. He’ll recognise some letters and be intelligent enough to guess words but he doubts that he is able to write his name.

“You’ll be tutored. When I’m done with you, you shall be able to write your name in perfect script and read the great novels of the day. You’ll find it beneficial.” Wyndam flashes him another tight smile. “I have tutors in England. You’ll be taught manners, etiquette and other such important things. I guarantee that by the time I’m finished with you, you will not recognise yourself,” he promises.  “And I think that will be something that you will welcome.”

A brief silence drops between them.

“You started your life in extremely low circumstances, am I right?” He waits and after a moment or two, Hal slowly almost reluctantly nods.  His eyes lift and he watches Wyndam warily.

“Now that wasn’t so difficult now was it? Did the world all of a sudden end because you confessed to something so minor? No it didn’t. Let me share something with you Hal. My beginnings were equally low. I was the youngest son. My father was a farmer, a serf so you can imagine, absolutely no prospects apart from perpetual hunger and slavery and death from starvation or disease before I reached full adulthood. My sire was a traveller by the name of Godwin. He changed my life, quite literally.” Another faint smile crosses Wyndam’s face.

“Where is he now?” Hal asks curiously and thinks of how old this Godwin must be. Wyndam shrugs.

“I have no idea. I left his care after a handful of decades and cut my own swathe through England until I encountered Mr Snow.” He becomes still as he regards Hal.

“I know that you see what Snow has decided for you as interference but this is for your own good. Snow is very rarely wrong about a person, human or vampire; he’s lived longer than all of us after all.”

“Yet you yourself have said you’ve yet to see any kind of potential from me.”

“We met for the first time yesterday Hal, I haven’t had time to see any potential, I’ll get to see it once your training begins.” He watches how he frowns.

“Don’t you think that you require some…refinement? Would you be happy to eke out an existence such as you are, like your friends James and Louis? Aren’t you interested in becoming your own man? Because with the correct influence you could be, you could be so much.” Wyndam leans forward and watches him closely.

“But let me give you a word of warning. I demand respect, I expect it. I think after five hundred years I’ve earned it. Life with me will not be easy and you will probably end up hating me. I hope that you do because then it will mean that I’m doing my job well.” His eyes gleam knowingly. “I’m willing to teach you everything that I think you need to know but if you deliberately defy me, fool me or try to end me then I will unleash unholy hell onto your head. You will wish that you had died in that battlefield. Are we understood?”

Hal swallows down the reply that was on the tip of his tongue. He hates how Wyndam makes him feel, like the helpless child that he once was but he recognises an opportunity when he sees one. A door has been opened to him, a door that otherwise wouldn’t have been available.

He nods.

 

 


	6. Chapter Six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There may be trouble ahead....

**Chapter Six:**

His mind is full as he takes his leave from Wyndam’s presence. Once he left England’s shores he had promised to himself never to allow himself to be in a situation where he was less than fully in control and up until now he has held onto that vow.

He feels as though he has just signed over what remains of his sanity and for what?

_For advancement, for respect and for prospects._  The words bounce around inside of his head.

All three very powerful reasons right there.

He frowns and wonders whether it will all be worth it. Is Wyndam truly the powerful vampire he claims to be and who James and Louis say that he is?  Well if he has Snow’s approval then surely the question is answered for him?

“Hal!” He stiffens when he hears James call his name and he pauses and waits for him to catch up. He glances at him as James slings a brotherly arm across his shoulders as together they begin to walk again.

“So, you are leaving us then?” He watches as Hal frowns very slightly.

“Have you been lurking in places you shouldn’t be James?” he enquires and watches his eyes widen marginally. Is that a flash of guilt that he sees in their depths? He blinks. It would seem that he sees suspicion and intrigue behind every question these days.

“No, I was passing and saw you leaving Wyndam’s chamber. Have you accepted his patronage or did you turn it down?”

“I accepted and while I felt as though I had no say in the matter, I’ve come to realise that it will be in my best interests. It won’t be forever.” Hal hopes that Maria is being truthful in that respect.

“You’re a lucky man Hal, a very lucky man indeed and we must celebrate this good fortune that has fallen into your lap!” James announces loudly. Hal regards him curiously.

“And how do you suggest we do that?” James grins.

“How do we usually celebrate? With wine, women and song my friend, just a different kind of wine…” He pats his back. “This way. Your celebration waits.”

Hal pauses and regards him curiously. “And what if I’d refused to attend?”

“You refuse a celebration held in your honour? It hasn’t happened yet. Are you planning to refuse?” Hal thinks about what lies in front of him and he shakes his head. James laughs.

“Good, you will not regret it.”

* * *

 

He recognises most of the vampires present but not all of them. They greet him like a brother and James presses a goblet of dark red wine into his hand.

“From Snow himself, one of the best from his cellars, the wine cellars that is, not the other one.” Hal looks down into the cup. From Snow himself? He takes a sip. It’s delicious and slides coolly down his throat. He takes another, bigger mouthful and feels it easily slip its way down.

“Be careful, it’s very strong stuff,” James warns, his tone light. Hal turns his head and regards him.

“We’re celebrating are we not?” He then turns to face the other vampires present. “Then let the wine flow and we will celebrate!” he announces to be greeted by loud cheers of agreement.

* * *

 

He can’t remember her name. He looks down at her and he sees her wide staring eyes. They’re empty of everything except perhaps a flare of shock as his fangs pierced the soft skin of her neck. He closes his eyes as he moves back from her and wipes at his chin. He sighs blissfully and opens them and his gaze drops onto her.  Blood still dribbles weakly from her throat and soaks into the linen sheet that has been draped over the daybed precisely for this purpose. He ripped the gown from her body in his eagerness to possess her, to feed from her and it lies in tatters at his feet. He stares at it for a brief moment. It’s a pale green shade, thin and diaphanous, designed to reveal rather than enhance and she’d done a very good job of that. He continues to wipe at his chin as he pulls his shirt back onto his shoulder. He glances down at it. It is heavily stained and grubby. He stares at it for a moment and blinks as the blood swoon takes hold and fills his head.

“Hal…” He turns his head in the direction of the voice and he stares at James who lounges in the doorway.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Hal retorts irritably. He slides off the daybed and rearranges his clothing.

“I did, you obviously didn’t hear me.”

James comes further into the room and he sees the dead girl. “Well someone had a good time. You didn’t leave anything for me?”

Hal glances at him. “I wasn’t aware that I had to share,” he answers.

“You don’t share Hal, that’s the point. Was she worth it? Judging by the sounds we heard, it was.” His attempt at a conspiratorial tone falls flat as Hal ignores him as he crosses the room to where a jug and bowl await his attention on top of a wooden chest.

The water is refreshingly cold as he sluices it over his face and he ignores the colour that it becomes as he picks up the linen cloth beside it and pats his face dry. As he turns, he sees James wrap the linen sheet over the corpse. He frowns, he still doesn’t remember her name but she knew his. She’d whispered it over and over again, her body hot against his as he’d ridden her. Her scream of ecstasy turning into something more as that raging lust became infinitely more powerful and consuming. Curiously Hal approaches James and stands beside him as he looks down at the marble pale face, drying blood splashed messily on her skin in his haste.

“Who was she?” he asks. He senses James looking at him.

“Rose; she was a camp follower of a kind. She had her eye on you for quite a while; I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed her before now.”

This time Hal does look at him. “Was she? No I hadn’t.” He casts another cursory glance in her direction and he leaves the room.

* * *

 

Wyndam lifts his head from his paperwork and he listens.

“What is that noise?” He turns his head towards Maria who is seated beside the fireplace, a book in her hands. She looks up and a mild frown wrinkles her brow.

“What? Oh…that.” She turns her head towards the door. Like him, she can hear the loud laughter and the cheers that fill the air, slightly muted. A half smile crosses her face. “That is Hal’s farewell celebration in progress. Considering what lies ahead for him, I think he deserves it,” she sighs when she sees him frown.

“We depart in the morning Maria, I can’t have him heavy headed and sick from an over indulgence of wine and blood.” He goes to stand up but Maria is in front of him in an instant.

“Don’t do that Edgar. He’s having a good time. Leave him be for tonight,” she cajoles. She smiles as his frown remains for a moment before slowly fading.

“I’m surprised that you’re not part of this farewell celebration?”

“Oh James was sure to inform me that it is a strictly men only affair.” She rolls her eyes. “How tedious of him to insist, I’m just in the mood for a party.” She grins at him and returns to her chair. She retrieves her book and sits down again.

“James organised this celebration you say?” Wyndam’s voice is sharp but curious and she looks at him once more. She nods.

“Yes, he and Louis, they wanted to give him a fitting send off. Why do you ask?” She watches the strangest of expressions cross his face before he focuses on her and he shakes his head.

“No reason. Very well, he may have tonight but we leave early tomorrow and he had better be ready to depart on time.”

“I’ll make sure that he is. Thank you Edgar.” Her voice softens and his eyes hold hers for a moment longer before he returns his attention to his paperwork.

* * *

 

His head is spinning. It is the strangest of feelings.

He can hear music playing and he turns towards its source but he can’t see where it is coming from. All around him bodies twist and gyrate into what seem like impossible shapes. Eyes seem impossibly wide, mouths stretched and gaping. The music wherever it is coming from seems unbearably loud and it feels like it is vibrating through him. He can feel it pound inside of him like a once remembered heartbeat.

“Hal…” He turns towards the voice and looks at James. He carries two goblets, one of which he hands to him.

“I shouldn’t…an early departure has been planned for me tomorrow,” he tells him and James laughs.

“Yes, tomorrow but morning hasn’t arrived yet. Drink up,” he urges and he takes a sip of his own wine. Hal regards him for a second before he complies.

The alcohol charges through his system. It feels like his insides are aflame. He drains the cup and hands it back to James and he pushes his way through the crowds. He feels overheated all of a sudden, as if an ocean of fire is consuming him from the inside out. It’s disconcerting.  He needs air.

“Hal…” He feels a hand touch his shoulder and he spins around.

“ _What_? Why do you continue to seek my attention?” he demands when he sees James standing beside him. It annoys him that wherever he turns, he is there almost like an obedient little lapdog. It makes him angry and he feels it surge through him.

“Leave me be!” he snaps at him and he backs away. The other voices, the music all die away and a heavy silence is left in its wake. James blinks. He glances at the others present.

“I was just enquiring as to how you are feeling, you look unwell,” he answers in a concerned tone. Hal frowns at him.

“I am perfectly well James, or I would be if you ceased to bother me as you have done this evening!” he retorts and he watches James’s eyes go wide, almost unnaturally so. He wonders how that is possible.

“I have taken care of you Hal, after all this is your celebration,” James responds his tone careful and for some reason it rankles with him.

“And why do you feel the need to take care of me James? Let me ask you that important question hmmm?” Hal demand waspishly.

“I always have, ever since you first arrived here.”

“Did you think that you were taking me under your wing…is that it? I don’t _need_ your protection. I have been taking care of myself for long enough thank you, long before I met you and your ilk and even before I was recruited to this life. I am not a child!” he spits at him.

Silence falls. Hal stands in the centre of the room. He regards them, at their identical expressions of discomfort and shock. He sighs loudly and shakes his head.

“What are you doing? Why do you stay here? _Why_ aren’t you out in the world making your own mark? Instead you’re all here, hoping for a crumb of attention from the head table. It would be pathetic if it wasn’t so funny!” He looks at them, in their finery, drunk from blood, from the wine. He smiles and then a burst of laughter escapes from him.

“And yet here _you_ are Hal, at the same table, begging for the same scraps,” James interrupts stiffly. Hal’s laughter instantly ceases as he rounds on him, fury replacing the mirth.

“Temporarily James, that is the difference!” he retaliates and James’s eyes narrow.

“You have Edgar Wyndam’s patronage, _that_ is the difference Hal. Without it you would have been like the rest of us. Waiting and hoping.”

“Well then, it’s been my fortune that as of tomorrow I shall no longer be _waiting_ and _hoping_. I think the rest of you fall under that category instead.”  He dips in an extravagant bow and as he straightens he watches James approach him.

“You sir are quite drunk and as you have reminded us so eloquently, you have an early start tomorrow so how about I suggest that we end this… _celebration_ so that you may retire to your room?” he suggests. He lays a hand on Hal’s shoulder and he pulls away. His eyes glitter and his lips draw back in a snarl.

“Do not think to patronise me! Do you think that I don’t know what you call me behind my back? _Lord_ Harry…do you think that I don’t hear how you laugh or not know what you really think of me?” His furious gaze sweeps around at the room’s occupants. He sees how they lower their gazes or begin to turn away. “You taunt me with such a name but one day perhaps it will not be the insult that you intend it to be. One day I will return and perhaps you will bow to me instead of to Mr Snow. Imagine _that_ ,” he snarls quietly.

“Hal. Enough.” James’s hands rest heavily on Hal’s shoulders and he looks into his eyes. His eyes are bright with anger, his cheeks flushed apple red. A fine perspiration makes his hair cling to his forehead and to his neck. James lifts his head and he glances at the guests.

“I think that it is safe to say that the festivities are over for tonight. Thank you for your company gentlemen, I’m sure Hal will be feeling better in the morning and apologies will follow.”

“Do not presume to know me sir!” Hal hisses and attempts to shrug off his grip but James just holds on that little bit tighter and Hal pauses.

“You are drunk and perhaps a little bit indignant. Let me escort you back to your chamber,” he suggests in a quiet, calm voice.

* * *

 

Hal’s gait is a little unsteady as they return to his chamber. James keeps a careful eye on him but is careful not to touch him as they pause outside of the door.

“You need to sleep Hal, to be fresh in the morning. Wyndam does not tolerate lateness and celebration or not he will expect you to be ready on time,” he tells him in a low voice.

“I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” Hal’s voice is low and sullen and James regards him.

“No, I don’t suppose that you do.” He watches Hal reach for the door handle and just as he begins to twist it, he places a hand on his shoulder. Hal starts and looks at him. James smiles softly.

“There is a gift for you in your chamber Hal. Call it a farewell present,” he murmurs. Hal doesn’t immediately reply and James pats his shoulder and walks away.

* * *

 

His room is filled with shadows. He tries to ignore them. He doesn’t like shadows, they’re filled with menace and foreboding and things spring out at him from them. It’s best that he doesn’t pay attention to them.

He feels heat wash over his skin and as he slowly approaches the wide bed, he peels off his shirt. It is stiff from the blood of earlier and he drops it at his feet. He kicks off his boots and leaves them ignored nearby.

Someone occupies his bed and it makes him curious. They’re quite still and unmoving but he can hear a heartbeat. He hears it force blood through the veins, such an enchanting sound but his mouth feels so dry and he turns his head and he sees the decanter of wine on the cabinet beside his bed. It seems to glow from the inside out, as if inviting him to drink it. He casts the occupant of his bed another glance before he heads towards the decanter and he pours a quantity into the accompanying glass. He sips it and recognises it as the wine from earlier this evening, the farewell gift from Snow himself.

He lowers himself onto the side of his bed and finishes what is left of the wine. So he must be on time tomorrow. He frowns slightly. He is already packed and ready to depart according to Maria. She will have arranged it, as if knowing that he had no intention of doing so himself. He doesn’t have much; he has nothing of value to care about. He shakes his head as if to dislodge the direction his thoughts seem to be taking him.

He strips and slides into bed and the sheets feel blessedly cool against his skin. It’s then that once more he remembers the ‘gift’ James alluded to and he sees the shadowy outline of it beside him. He turns towards it and his hand reaches for it. It feels warm.

* * *

 

The sun is barely over the horizon but Wyndam has been awake for a little while. His mind is filled with the day ahead, the preparations necessary and whether his protégé will be on time. He won’t be surprised if there is a final, small show of defiance. Perhaps he’ll pay a visit to his chamber and rouse him himself. He ruminates on the matter but decides against it.

He eats a light breakfast and heads out of his chamber. He needs to speak with Snow before he departs, he’s sure that he will have one or two instructions of his own regarding Hal. He usually does.

* * *

 

“Are you ready to depart?” Snow enquires. Together they stand by the window that overlooks the front of the property. A couple of wagons are being loaded with trunks, provisions and other valuables. Wyndam watches the goings on almost absently. He then turns his head to look at Snow.

“Are you absolutely sure that this is what you want? For me to take Hal on and mould him?” he asks. The tiniest of frowns mars Snow’s smooth brow.

“Are you having doubts Edgar? Usually you don’t question my orders once they’re issued. Is there something on your mind that you feel I should know about?” His waiting gaze is steady and Wyndam sighs.

“I just want you to be sure. For while Hal is indeed an intriguing young man, there’s little known about him and that sits uneasily with me.” It’s his turn to frown.

“I’m sure you have your network of spies and informants hard at work uncovering whatever you can find out about him in England, I’m sure that in time all your questions will be answered.”

“I sent a message out almost as soon as you entrusted him to me. There’s so much work to do…”

“And you will accomplish it all. When you see him fulfil his potential and more, you will be glad that you did it…”

Any further words are interrupted by a frantic knocking on the door and both turn their heads towards it.

“Enter!” Snow calls and almost immediately the door swings open. Wyndam watches as one of Snow’s manservants appears. He has a few of them, young vampires eager for promotion and prospects. He seems pale and a little agitated and Wyndam has to wonder what has happened to put him into such a state. For a moment it seems that he can’t speak.

“Yes what is it?” Snow demands. The servant seems to come to then and he takes a breath and straightens.

“Your attention is required sir. It’s a matter of utmost urgency,” he almost stammers. Then his eyes slide towards Wyndam and marginally widen.

“Yours too My Lord Wyndam….it’s regarding Mr Yorke sir…he has done something truly catastrophic…” Wyndam feels his stomach pitch.

“Catastrophic you say? What could he have possibly done?” Snow muses as he looks to Wyndam. There’s a faint smile on his face.

“It would seem he has killed…the daughter of a town dignitary sir…Mistress Mary,” the manservant interrupts.

“You must be mistaken…” Wyndam accuses but the servant rapidly shakes his head.

“Sadly I am not. We have had regular dealings with the family since we first moved here and I recognised her…what is left…of her,” he whispers.  Wyndam and Snow exchange a look, the amusement has vanished from Snow’s face.

“That… _boy_ ,” he hisses angrily and strides away, leaving Wyndam in his wake.

* * *

 

The smell of blood is heavy in the air as they approach Hal’s chamber. Another of Snow’s manservants is standing in front of the closed door and like his colleague he is pale and somewhat shaken.

“Is Hal still in there?” Wyndam demands. For his sanity’s sake, he had better be.  The manservant nods rapidly and opens the door. Wyndam sees other doors begin to open as the scent of the shed blood has no doubt begun to garner curiosity.

“We’ve tried to rouse him sir but to no avail, it’s as though he’s properly dead himself,” the manservant explains as he opens the door wide.

The scent is particularly strong here and Wyndam braces himself for a moment. He swallows and follows Snow inside.

“Good…God,” Snow whispers in disbelief.

 


	7. Chapter Seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A terrible discovery.

**Chapter Seven:**

Blood. The room is an ocean of blood.

Wyndam pauses beside Snow and his eyes take in the scene. For a brief second he gapes as he absorbs what has happened here.

The entire bed is soaked in blood and gore. It drips off the sheets and the bed linen and stains the rushes on the floor that are designed to keep the room sweetened.

“Wake him,” Snow instructs and Wyndam turns his head and looks at him for a moment before his attention returns to the bed and to it's occupants.

The girl lies on her back. She is naked, her limbs an untidy, used tumble. The early morning light paints her skin an interesting shade of bluish white considering she has been completely drained of any remaining blood. Slowly Wyndam approaches the bed. Hal lies beside her, on his stomach with his head facing away from them and his body is covered in blood, gore and flesh. It bespatters him and everywhere around him. Wyndam turns his head and returns his attention to Hal’s companion, to Mistress Mary.

Her eyes are bound with a scarf of richly embroidered material and he has to wonder at that but he hasn’t enough time to wonder at what his protégé’s predilections run to at this moment. He turns his head and looks at Snow again, to see him staring at the bed with pale narrow eyed rage. Wyndam slowly swallows and looks back to the girl.

Her clothing now lies in an untidy pile on the floor by his feet. Her pale skin has been marked and abused by bites and other such injuries. Her throat is ripped open. She has been devoured and as he looks closer, he can see the pale ivory sheen of bone. From the angle of her head he guesses that her neck has been broken under the onslaught. He investigates further and realises that she has all but been beheaded. Wyndam turns his head back in Hal’s direction. It is as the manservant claimed, as though he were properly dead. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t stirred at the intrusion. He looks to where the servants stand in the doorway with other witnesses. He nods.

“Rouse him,” he instructs and watches how they pick their way across the room and to the opposite side of the bed. For all that they are vampires and they kill without compunction, what has occurred here has shocked even them.

“Do it and do not be gentle,” he tells them in a harder voice and he takes a step back.

* * *

 

From the deep shadows of sleep Hal senses movement and it takes him a moment or two to surface sufficiently and when he does, slumber clings to his senses like a thick soup. His eyes are barely open when he feels himself being pulled upright and he gasps when he feels a hand grab his hair and pull his head back. His eyes spring open and immediately the room begins to spin and twirl. It makes his stomach twist in accompaniment. His limbs feel heavy and that adds to his sense of disorientation.

“Hal!” He struggles to focus on the voice that he can hear and he blinks slowly. He rears back when he feels a stinging slap across his face and he pulls forward and immediately struggles against the restraint that he feels. He looks over both shoulders and sees that he is being held fast. He frowns.

“What… what is… happening?” His words feel thick on his tongue.

“What have you done Hal?” that same voice demands and he turns towards it.

His vision begins to clear and he shakes his head slightly.

“Done? I have done… nothing sir. I was sleeping when I was… rudely dragged from my bed…”

“Then how do you explain this?” the voice retorts and Hal frowns.

“Explain what…” A hand grabs his chin and holds him steady and Hal is forced to look into ice cold blue eyes.

“The occupant of your bed Hal. I thought that she was your friend?” Hal stares at him, at Edgar Wyndam in slow confusion.

“My…” Wyndam turns his head towards the bed and Hal sees the devastation. His eyes widen and then widen further when he sees Snow standing opposite. His gaze drops down to the body.

“Oh…God,” he whispers as he recognises the golden hair made red with blood. It is tossed mockingly over the pillow.

“Do you deny that you did this? After my _specific_ instructions?” Snow demands. Hal stares at him and he begins to tremble.

“In truth sir…I do not remember,” he whispers fearfully.

“You do not _remember_. Such a fitting excuse given your history don’t you think?” Snow snaps. Hal just stares at him, his body trembling now. “Take him down to the cellars. I have to think about what to do with him. Once that has been accomplished, you and I must converse Mr Wyndam. Don’t keep me waiting.” He casts another cold look at the bed and turns. The men watch him leave.

Wyndam releases his hold on Hal’s chin and his head drops down. He notices the blood that covers him; how it coats almost every single part of him. Shock sends him rigid.

“You heard Mr Snow…” Wyndam reminds Hal’s guards as he turns away.

“But…” Hal exclaims and Wyndam swiftly turns to look back at him.

“Do you deny all knowledge of how Mistress Mary met her demise?” he demands and he watches Hal’s expression change, how the fear filters through, how his eyes slide away but he doesn’t look to her lying in his bed. Wyndam sighs and shakes his head.

“The cellars,” he reminds them and Hal is dragged away.

* * *

 

There is something… _rotten_ about all of this. That is the thought that uppermost occupies Wyndam’s thoughts as he watches Hal being taken away. There is something so wrong about it. During their conversation of the previous day he thought that he was getting the measure of the young man. Once the initial hostility had begun to ease and their agreement reached upon, he had begun to feel that almost forgotten sensation of…anticipation. And now Hal does this? It doesn’t make sense, how could he have been so completely wrong about someone? He is almost never wrong.

As he leaves the room, he sees the small gathering accumulated by the door. He catches the door handle on his way out and pulls it shut therefore blocking them of their view.

“There is nothing of interest here for you,” he tells them in a level tone, his gaze touching on each and every one. It doesn’t escape his notice that both James and Louis are part of this curious group. His gaze holds for a moment longer on James’s face before he turns and heads down the corridor and towards Snow’s rooms.

He pauses outside of the door to his chamber and he waits for a moment and thinks of what to say, to appease him. He raises a hand and taps and after a moment he hears Snow invite him inside.

Snow is alone but he is pacing in front of his desk. He pauses when he sees him but Wyndam sees the tension in him.

“Is he incarcerated?” he demands in a tight voice and Wyndam inclines his head.

“Good. He has overstepped his boundaries Edgar, far over-reached himself. Why would he do such a foolish, idiotic thing?”

Wyndam watches as he begins to pace again, over and over.

“With respect sir, he is a vampire, one of alleged reputation and a reputation he seems to have lived up to,” Wyndam answers and Snow pauses and looks at him.

“You jest with me sir?” he demands sharply and Wyndam regards him and shakes his head.

“You know me better than that my Lord. No I do not. I never jest. I’m just stating the facts. You told me yourself about him, about his future prospects and now he has shown us both a hint of those prospects and still you are here, furiously angry at him.”

Snow glares at him. “And why do you seek to protect him after your initial reluctance to take him under your wing?” he demands.

“Because all of this…troubles me,” Wyndam confesses.

“Troubles you? Let me remind you of something. When we first occupied this estate I made it clear to everyone that it was with the understanding that we respect our neighbouring town. That we _not_ draw attention to what we are and what we do until we are ready to and it has been successful. No one has suspected a thing. We managed to co-exist. Until now. Her father will quickly realise his daughter is missing.  He will also realise that she is here and when he _realises_ that she is dead and who killed her well quite simply, there will be a war.” Snow’s normally calm control wears perilously thin for a brief moment before he reasserts himself. He pauses. “And with a war there will be casualties and it’s a pity because I rather like living here.” He fixes his gaze upon Wyndam’s face and his expression darkens once more.

“He was told not to harm her and certainly not to rip her to pieces as he has done so. I can only forgive so much of him. His carelessness will expose us to hysteria and we simply cannot risk the exposure or the knowing just yet, we’ll all be burned at the stake or worse.”

“Then let me take him away from here today and I will train him to resist those overpowering urges. He lacks finesse and last night was a mistake,” Wyndam defends.

“As was his killing of Francesca and apparently another body attributed to him was disposed of earlier last evening.”

Wyndam frowns briefly. “Are you having doubts about him now? Are you admitting that you were wrong about him, that perhaps you’ve met a vampire that you _can’t_ control?” he enquires slowly and carefully.

Snow stares at him. “Once in a while someone…like Hal will attract my attention. I remember the last time I came across such a vampire.” His look is pointed and Wyndam knows that he is talking about him. He watches as he frowns. “I should make an example of him. Some rules are not meant to be broken, under _any_ circumstances.”

“And under any other circumstances I would agree with you but this time I beg a favour of you,” Wyndam interrupts. Snow goes very still as he waits.

“And what would this favour be?” he enquires in a chilly voice.

“It’s entirely your prerogative what you wish to happen to Hal but I would ask that you delay your final decision a matter of days.” Wyndam’s brain is ticking over as he asks this.

“And why would I wish to do that? Why would I want to grant you your request?”

“You trust my judgement do you not?” Wyndam waits and watches him. He sees that he has piqued Snow’s interest with his air of mystery.

“You know that I do Edgar, as much as I trust anyone. Go on…”

“There is something inherently…suspicious about all of this that I can’t quite put my finger on. I need to look into this, ask questions and investigate. Quietly of course.”

“Why?”

“Just call it instinct. It hasn’t failed me yet.” Wyndam waits as Snow seems to mull it over. Eventually he nods.

“You have three days Edgar. If your investigations come to naught then I shall decide what Hal’s fate is to be. In the meantime he must stay in the cellar, under lock and key. No food, no blood, I sense a dose of starvation and humility will quickly bring him to heel.”

Wyndam regards him. “Very well, three days. Thank you.”

* * *

 

Wyndam’s stride is long and rapid as he heads back towards his chambers. His mind is filled with questions. He lifts his head and sees Maria approaching him and he sees the concern in her eyes. He slows his pace somewhat as she falls into step beside him.

“What is this that I’m hearing about Hal?” She keeps her voice low but her tone is concerned.

“It depends upon what it is that you have heard,” he answers. He pauses by his door and looks at her.

“He was discovered in his bed this morning with the corpse of Mistress Mary…that she was all but _beheaded_?” Wyndam stares hard at her before he reaches behind and opens the door. He slides inside and beckons her to follow. He closes the door behind her and draws her into the centre of the room.

“He was. Snow is apoplectic that he has put us all at risk of exposure and wants him suitably punished.”

“His tune has quickly changed. Only yesterday he couldn’t sing his praises high enough,” Maria mutters.

“He is fickle; his moods can change upon a whim. I’ve managed to persuade him to delay his final decision a little while.”

“What do you intend to do? You know that once Snow has made up his mind then nothing can change it.” Her words halt as he holds both of her arms by the elbow.

“You know Hal better than I do. Would he do such a thing? Would he massacre someone whom he considered a friend and leave her corpse beside him to be discovered so publicly?” He keeps his voice low. Maria’s eyes widen as she realises what it is that he is implying.

“You think…”

“Answer my question,” he instructs and she blinks at his change of tone.

“No…he’s young and yes he is arrogant but he would never have harmed Mary. I couldn’t believe my ears when James informed me what had happened.”

“James told you?”

“It’s everywhere Edgar, it’s all people are talking about,” she answers curiously as Wyndam releases his hold on her and turns away.

“You think that someone else did this and is blaming Hal?”

Edgar swings around. “He killed her Maria; there is no doubt about that. If you saw the condition of his room as I did then you’d agree. It’s the manner of it that sits uneasily with me. I think I need to talk to some people and get to the bottom of this.”

“What is your suspicion?” Maria’s voice lowers. Wyndam regards her pensively for a moment.

“I believe someone has set the entire scene to enable Hal’s fall. When I approached his bed this morning he was all but unconscious, he was insensible. He took a while to rouse, to make any kind of sense and I saw the expression on his face when he saw her corpse. He truly didn’t know what he had done.”

“But he has times in the night when he screams and runs and has no memory of that, we all saw him the other evening Edgar, we witnessed it for ourselves. Perhaps this is what happened here?”

“Yes, then he screamed and he cried out but he did not this time.”

“You think that he was drugged?” Wyndam just nods and Maria’s eyes widen.

“By who?”

“There is but one who would do such a thing to him. Someone who resents his sudden promotion and success, someone who approached me on the night of my arrival and asked that I take him instead.” His voice is low. Maria shakes her head in puzzlement.

“He told you himself about Hal’s demise, I can imagine that he couldn’t help himself, glorying in his public humiliation,” he continues and watches as her eyes widen.

“James?” she whispers and Wyndam just nods.

“I just need to prove it.”

Maria looks at him. “And you have your ways of making that happen.” she murmurs.

* * *

 

The door slams shut with a final heavy hollow clang. Hal slowly lifts his head as he hears the scratch of a key being turned in a lock and the scrape of a bar being pushed across the door itself. It sounds so final, so absolute.

The room is so dark and the ground beneath his body is cold soft dirt. He looks around but can see nothing, he doesn’t even know if he is alone or not.

His head still feels thick and over stuffed and his stomach roils and churns with every breath. He slowly lies back down and he can smell the dampness of the earth beneath his cheek. He slowly rolls onto his back and stares upward. He can hear the drip of water and the air feels icy cold against his bare skin. All that he wears is a pair of breeches, hastily grabbed and thrown at him as he was tossed into the cellar. He barely had enough strength to pull them on.

He’s so confused. He doesn’t remember any of it. The last day has faded into shadows and light. He remembers his audience with Wyndam and encountering James after that but further on and it all becomes muddled up and foggy.

Slowly he sits up and feels his head swim and his stomach churn in tandem. He rubs his face and shivers. He laboriously turns and rises up onto his knees.

He has been condemned to the cellars, Snow is furiously angry with him and those who are banished here very rarely get a reprieve. He’s broken the golden rule, never to expose the outside world to the existence of vampires. Once Mary’s father realises that she is missing then he will come here and he will realise what has happened. The people here are superstitious as well as suspicious. He’s witnessed that hysteria for himself, the burning at the stake of supposed witches and heretics. Their sins being that their belief systems are different to what is seen as convention, as acceptable. What would the outside world truly think about the existence of vampires?

His head hurts and he frowns against it. He slowly, arduously gets to his feet and his head spins and it makes him sway drunkenly.

He suddenly bends over as he vomits and it feels as though it will never stop. He hears it splatter on the soft ground, smells its acrid bitterness. It leaves him weak and he drops to his knees again.  His arms curl around his middle as he collapses onto his side and pants hollowly, staring unseeing at the black damp walls in front of him.

Tears leak ignored from the corners of his eyes.

 


	8. Chapter Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyndam begins his investigations with the help of Maria.

**Chapter Eight.**

There isn’t a soul to be seen as Wyndam pauses at Hal’s chamber door. He reaches for the handle and then pauses. Slowly and deliberately he looks to his left and to his right. At the same time he listens. His senses prickle. The entire household has heard about the events of this morning and as a result the mood is somewhat hushed and subdued.

Snow has locked himself away and will see nobody, not even him. Part of him is relieved at that, he wants to conduct his investigation in peace and without interruption or interference.

He turns the door handle and pushes the heavy door open and he slides inside.

The room is empty. Daylight floods eagerly through the windows. Wyndam closes the door behind him and his eyes take in the scene in front of him.

The bed has been stripped of all linen, the rushes swept and replaced. All the evidence seemingly has been cleaned away and apart from the lack of replacement bed linen, it doesn’t look like anything at all happened here, never mind the scene that had greeted him this morning.  He walks to the centre of the large room and turns in a slow tight circle, his eyes taking everything in. There seems to be nothing out of place. He sees the travelling chest at the bottom of the bed. It hasn’t been loaded on the wagon just yet and Wyndam wonders whether it ever will be. He goes to it and opens it.

Hal’s clothes and possessions are folded neatly inside of it. Quickly and with a practised hand, he rifles through it all. There is nothing here. As he straightens up, his eyes scan the room again. It’s a waste of time as anything incriminating will have been cleared away while the bed was being stripped and the rushes cleared away and replaced. He sighs.

He stares at the chest with a frown on his face. There had not been much inside of it. There had been clothes of course and shoes and boots but nothing of a personal nature, no books or jewellery, no souvenirs to remind him of his former life before recruitment.  Under the usual circumstances this is actually a good thing. He has no attachments, no human ties and nothing to hold him back but to Wyndam’s eyes, this time it is almost…sad.

He hopes that his informants in London will be successful in unearthing something about this boy’s life before he ended up capturing Alexei’s attention.

* * *

 

Wyndam walks into the Great Hall. Few people are milling around and those who are, quickly depart upon catching his eye. He has been told to deal with this meeting by Snow and it irritates him, he has enough to do without having to deal with this as well.  Snow informed him that it was necessary; that he has the correct skills to conduct this meeting otherwise blood would be shed in the most public of manners. So to avoid that temper tantrum, here he is.

A small group of men stand beside the head table and as he approaches them, he sees how their eyes take in their surroundings. He watches how they all turn to regard him. He sees the suspicion in their eyes. Snow claims that they have a cordial relationship with the nearby townsfolk. He doesn’t see evidence of that here.

“Sirs…I’m afraid Mr Snow is currently indisposed. How may I help you?” Wyndam keeps his voice level and his tone suitably deferential as he takes them in. There are four of them and judging by their attire and deportment, they see themselves as men of importance.

“We would like to see Mr Snow,” one of them demands and Wyndam swallows down his irritation. He has an idea of what these men want and he knows that he must be very, very careful. He turns to him and regards him for a moment, his stare unblinking and designed to be off putting. It works, the other man looks away, his cheeks flushed a faintly embarrassed pink.

“He sends his apologies. I’m Edgar Wyndam; I’m his second in command so to speak.” He introduces and he waits and wonders who will speak first.

“Is Hal here?” the same man demands and Wyndam once more looks at him. A beat passes.

“Hal?”

“Yes…Hal Yorke. I know he lives here, my daughter told me so and he has been a visitor to my establishment on more than one occasion.” Wyndam takes a closer look at him. This must be Mary’s father and yes, he can see a resemblance in colouring.

“I know who Hal is and unfortunately he too is unable to join us. Is there a problem gentlemen?”

“I must speak with him, it is of utmost importance!” the man blurts out and Wyndam barely refrains from sighing out loud.

“Mr Yorke is unwell…a sweating sickness I’m afraid. It attacks suddenly and without warning and he is gravely ill and has been for the last day.” He sees the look of horror that flashes across his face and tries not to notice the half step back that he takes. It’s almost amusing.  Men and their fear of diseases.

“I must speak to him about my daughter…Mary. They were friends. Mary is missing sir. She cannot be found and her companion swears that yesterday she received a note from young Hal asking her to meet him. Edith is of the opinion that Mary stole away to meet him without my knowledge and it will be known, without my consent also.”

“A letter you say? Is there a copy of this missive for verification?” Wyndam asks. He looks to each man in turn.

“We only have Edith’s word,” Mary’s father mumbles.

“Ah, her _word_. Well sir, I can assure you that Edith is mistaken and that Mary is not here. Hal has not left his chamber in the last twenty four hours because of his illness. I would be willing to take you there to see for yourself but unfortunately, as you know, the sweating sickness is rather…infectious. You have enough to worry about without adding that to it.” He waits. A moment or two tick past as the four men exchange looks.

“Mary is a good girl Mr Wyndam and she was especially sweet on Hal. This is very unlike her,” her father responds irritably.

“I do not doubt you sir but be assured she is not here and never has been.” Wyndam’s response is calm. He watches as Mary’s father straightens and stares at him.

“You wouldn’t lie to me to protect your protégé would you? Mary told me that you are planning to take him back to England?” Wyndam stares at him and the only outward sign of his growing anger is the slow curling of his fingers into tight fists.

“You call me a liar sir? Yes, I am Hal’s patron but under no circumstances would I lie to protect him for whatever reason you are implying. I suggest you leave now…” _while you still can…_ the threat is left unsaid but he sees the colour drain out of the other man’s face. He looks at each man in turn, the ice in his eyes visible for all to see. Another look is exchanged between them and with a bow, they depart.

Wyndam is not in the best of moods as he leaves the Great Hall.

* * *

 

He enters his outer chamber and pauses when he sees Maria seated in his chair behind the desk. She lifts her eyes to look at him and watches as he approaches the desk. He pauses on the other side.

“What are you doing in here?” he enquires in a brittle voice. She leans back in the chair and regards him still.

“I hear that you had a visitor…”

“Visitors plural; Mary’s father and three companions. They seem to be of the opinion that Mary is here and that Hal knows of her whereabouts.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Maria’s face. “Fancy that. What did you tell them?”

“What do you think that I told them? I denied all knowledge. I may have convinced them for now but experience tells me that maybe I didn’t, not completely. Perhaps you should have spoken to them, used a little of that charm you have?” He watches as she rolls her eyes. She gets to her feet.

“More than likely I would have lost patience and eaten them. Diplomacy is more your department Edgar, you’re very good at it. My department is having a good time.” She skirts around the desk and as she turns she sees that Edgar has sat down in her just vacated seat. There’s a mild frown on his face as he stares into space for a moment.

“What are you thinking?”

His eyes flick up to her face and he sighs loudly. “According to Mary’s father, her companion swears that she received a note from Hal asking her to meet him. She left without either her escort or her father’s permission to do so.”

“Would you tell your father about a secret assignation Edgar? I know I wouldn’t, not if I was meeting someone like Hal.” She smiles innocently at his look of reproach.

“He said his farewells to her earlier in the day. He was morose but accepting of it,” Maria tacks on.

“You saw him? You spoke to him?”

“Just before he came to see you. He knew that she had feelings for him, feelings that he did not reciprocate. He was not comfortable with that thought. I think he genuinely saw her as a friend.”

“Did you know Mary?”

“Just from bits and pieces that Hal shared about her. He liked her friendship; he would not have harmed her. Not intentionally.”

“But unintentionally…I need to speak to the guests at his celebration. This all just feels… _wrong_ somehow. The more that I think of it, the more I’m convinced that Hal has been tricked in some manner.” Wyndam frowns.

“How will you get them to talk?” Maria enquires curiously and Wyndam smiles faintly.

“I have my ways, you know that my sweet,” he chides in a soft voice. Maria chuckles as Wyndam’s smile grows wider.

“Oh I haven’t forgotten,” she replies, her eyes sparkling.

* * *

 

It’s late when she emerges from cell. She sighs, replete and wipes delicately at the corners of her mouth. She smiles at the guard by the door.

“I don’t think that one is for much longer in this world Thomas,” she tells him.

“I will have someone take care of it for you Mistress Maria,” he answers and Maria casts a glance at the almost corpse in the small room behind her. She hasn’t seen Edgar since their earlier conversation and boredom has set in.

She knows that Hal will be in one of these cells but considering each door is securely bolted and locked with no way of seeing inside, she has no way of guessing which one. She hopes that he is coping. If she knows Edgar as she does, then he will have him free before long.

The sound of the scream stops Maria in her tracks. She feels the hair on the back of her neck prickle as she listens. It echoes along the narrow corridor and it sounds terrified, tormented. She knows instantly that it is Hal. She looks to Thomas.

“Where is he?” she hisses. Thomas’s eyes go wide.

“He’s under strict instructions not to be disturbed…” Another scream, louder than the previous one rents the air and the two vampires exchange a look. A loud thud follows it and Maria lifts up her skirts and she runs towards the sound, she pauses and sees how one of the doors shudders on the impact.

“Please….please….let me out…I promise to behave…” the voice wails, Hal’s voice. Maria looks to Thomas.

“I demand that you unlock this door…” She points at it.

“But…”

“Thomas…I will take full responsibility. Please,” she begs. Thomas sighs and takes a large key ring from his belt. Maria waits with faintly concealed impatience as he unlocks the door and pulls the bar back. Maria lifts a lit torch from a wall sconce and waits by the entrance. She looks at him.

“I will let you know when I’m ready to come out.”

“Mr Snow will not be happy about this,” Thomas warns.

“Mr Snow need not know about it, I’m not planning to tell him. Are you?” She holds his gaze for a second and then slides through the gap of the open door.

* * *

 

Maria turns and she sees him slumped against the wall beside the door. His head is down on his knees and his arms are wrapped around his head. She crosses the room and slips the torch into the wall bracket before she carefully approaches him. She crouches down in front of him.

“Hal…” she whispers. His head comes up and he inhales noisily. She stares at him. In the dim light his face is white-pale, smudged and dirty. There’s a wildness to his eyes that she hasn’t seen before and at the same time a kind of detachment that she does recognise.

“Hal, it’s Maria…hush now…” For a moment there is absolute silence. It’s as if he’s trying to decide whether to respond to her or not.

“It’s so dark…I’m scared,” he whispers and he sounds like such a small boy that Maria’s cold heart clenches. She creeps towards him and her hand comes out and touches his arm. His skin is freezing cold beneath her fingers.

“Oh Hal…” she whispers. She feels how he tenses up and she braces herself. She remembers how he knocked Wyndam over the moment he touched him. This time he doesn’t move. She slides closer to him until she is seated beside him on the cold soft dirt. She feels the ice cold chill of the room against her skin and sees how he trembles. She looks at him once more. He has lowered his head once again to rest on his folded knees. He trembles violently. She takes a breath and she slides an arm across his shoulders. She expects him to fling her off, to bolt across the room but surprisingly enough he doesn’t. He remains stiff for a moment or two. She slips her other arm across his chest and gently she draws him closer to her. He goes without much resistance and presently his head rests in her lap. She looks down at him.

“Don’t be afraid Hal, I’m here,” she murmurs as she strokes his hair slowly and carefully. Eventually the trembling decreases and his eyes slip closed and a more natural kind of slumber claims him.

* * *

 

She wakes suddenly. It takes her a moment to realise where she is. She feels the heavy weight across her thighs and it’s then that she remembers. She’s still in the cellar and she’s with Hal. She looks down at him. She watches how his eyes flutter open and then blink and then he’s upright and staring at her with wide eyes.

“I’m…what are you doing here?” he whispers.

“I heard you. You were shouting…I came to talk to you…to calm you if I could.”

Hal looks down at his grubby skin and clothing. He returns his attention to her. “You must leave. If Mr Snow discovers that you’ve been here, you will be punished.”

“No I won’t be. He likes me,” she half teases but he doesn’t smile back.

“I thought the same of him too but I quickly realised how naïve I was to believe that. He likes me well enough until I disappoint him and it would seem that I have done plenty of disappointing.”

“It is but a momentary setback. What do you remember?”

“About what?”

Maria pauses a beat. “About everything, anything.”  He looks at her. His face is white-pale with black sooty smudges marking the delicate skin beneath both eyes. She can see the faint sheen of sweat covering his skin. He is unwell and he needs to feed.

“It fades in and out of focus for me. I remember parts of the celebration but I don’t remember all of it. I remember wine, lots of wine and being very drunk. I remember Rose…”

“Rose?”  Hal shakes his head very slightly.

“A camp follower. And I remember being angry…and overheated.” He frowns at that particular memory.

“How can I have been overheated Maria? We’re normally such cold creatures so how could I have felt like that?” He looks at her, to see her pensive expression, the delicate frown between her eyebrows.

“What do you know?” he demands and she looks at him.

“Nothing I swear but Wyndam is investigating.”

“Why? I killed Mary when Snow said I should not but when I was woken up, she lay dead in my bed.”

_Barely breathing but her skin is so warm, so sweet smelling. She is irresistible. His hands are eager in their explorations, his mouth eager to touch hers, to taste. She seems eager too, he feels how she clings to him and her fingernails scratch the skin of his back. She invites and he takes. The satisfaction he feels is above everything else he has felt before._

_He can’t see her eyes._

Hal looks at Maria in confusion.

“Why couldn’t I see her eyes?” he whispers.

Maria frowns and then she remembers what Wyndam has told her, what he suspects. That someone created all of this to engineer Hal’s public fall from grace. He has been drugged, possibly poisoned so as he begins to remember, it will not make sense to him to begin with. She sighs.

“I don’t know Hal,” she whispers back.

* * *

 

Wyndam is on a mission. He needs names and all of a sudden people are being especially evasive. It’s as if they know that he suspects something and are keeping out of his way. It doesn’t deter him, in fact it makes him all the more determined to get to the root of all of this.

He lifts his head from his book when he hears the gentle tap on his door. The door creaks open and he smiles faintly at Maria who pops her head around it.

“May we talk?” she enquires in a low voice. Wyndam nods and beckons her in, closing the book and placing it on his desk already cluttered with more paperwork. He waits as she enters and closes the door. He frowns as he takes in her attire.

“Wait a moment…that gown…”

She looks down at it in confusion for a moment. “What about it?” she enquires irritably.

He looks at her. “It was the gown you wore yesterday. Are times that difficult my dear that you begin to wear the same gown for more than one day?”

She rolls her eyes at the mock sweetness as she sits down. “You are very amusing Edgar. If you must know, I spent the night with Hal.” Her eyes widen when she sees how his expression begins to darken. “Oh not like that…I was hungry and I went down to the cellars. I heard him, I heard him screaming and wailing. He needed some comfort. All he did was sleep,” she clarifies. She sighs loudly. “It was just as well that I stayed there because he is slowly beginning to remember what happened yesterday. Specifically that he felt hot.” She watches him and sees the interest spark in those blue eyes of his.

“Felt hot you say?” He pulls the book he’d been reading back in front of him and he opens it. Maria gets to her feet and goes around the desk to stand beside him.

“Something bothered me when he was hauled out of his bed yesterday. Apart from being almost insensible, the pupils of his eyes were enormous and his cheeks were…pink. He looked almost human, it was most unusual.” He rifles through the pages.

“He was poisoned Edgar, I’m almost certain of it. He also said he was very drunk. The night faded in and out for him. He doesn’t drink to excess; he’s always in control, _always_. It’s a point of honour for him and part of what makes him special. You know for yourself, once that blood lust kicks in then control is quickly gone. That never happens with Hal, it’s as though there is a door inside of his mind, it’s chilling.”

“You’ve seen this?”

“You saw him at dinner the night you were introduced? Hal doesn’t lose control; he doesn’t allow himself that luxury.”

Wyndam sits back in his seat. “Tell me more. What do you think he was poisoned with, you obviously have an idea.” He watches as she leans forwards and turns a couple more of the pages of the book.

“There…” she points at the illustration at the top of the page and Wyndam frowns as he leans forward and reads the words.

“Belladonna?”

“It’s called one of the baneful herbs. It’s highly toxic when ingested. It would kill a human in a short matter of time. To a vampire it will make them unwell certainly but it will make them lose control. The pupils of the eyes dilate, the skin becomes overheated and the person sweats. They become agitated, talkative and restless. I’m sure if you ask one or more guests at that party then they will tell you that Hal was all of those.” Wyndam continues to regard her.

“And how would someone get hold of this belladonna?” he asks. She smiles at him and her eyes twinkle with interest.

“There’s a woman in the town, a wise woman… She creates potions, spells…”

“She’s a witch?” he hisses and Maria shakes her head.

“No no, she wishes that she was but she’s not. She holds the town in awe with her supposed _powers_ and _abilities_ but in truth she’s just…gifted at what she does. She’s harmless.” She smiles to herself. “I can be almost sure that whoever it was who purchased this poison, purchased it from her…”

“Then we must ask her ourselves.”

Maria looks at Wyndam and she grins.

“Let me do that for you.” she volunteers.  Wyndam slowly nods. He opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by a knock on the door. They exchange a look.

“I shall be in there…” She points towards Wyndam’s inner chamber and before he can speak, she disappears through the door, closing it almost silently behind her. Wyndam closes the book and lowers it to the floor at his feet.

“Come in…” he calls and somehow isn’t surprised when he sees James make his entrance.

“Ah Mr Winterbourne…” he greets mildly.

“Mr Wyndam sir...” James answers and Wyndam rises to his feet as he approaches the desk. He has something in his hand.

“How can I help you sir?” Wyndam enquires.

“I was a witness to the happenings of yesterday morning sir and saw the terrible misdeed that Hal committed,” he begins and he looks down at what he holds in his hand. He takes a breath.

“Louis and I were part of the troop assigned to clean up his room afterwards and disposing of all of the…evidence. I came across…this in the bed linen and I thought that you should see it.” He holds it out and Wyndam sees that it is a note. It has been neatly folded but his senses prickle at the scent of the blood that stains the paper. He takes it and he sees Mary’s name in neat script. He looks up at James.

“Thank you for this. You think this is from Hal?”

“It is addressed to Mary and I would recognise his handwriting anywhere,” James answers and Wyndam looks down at the note again.

“Ah well there it is then. I suppose this is indeed proof of his misdeeds. I shall read it shortly. Thank you again Mr Winterbourne.” He remains standing as James sends him a puzzled look and then turns and leaves. As the door clicks shut, another one opens and Maria reappears.

“What is that?” she asks curiously, watching as he drops the note onto his desk. Wyndam looks at her.

“My proof,” he answers.

 


	9. Chapter Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything begins to come together...

**Chapter Nine:**

He has lost all track of time. He hears voices but he isn’t sure whether they’re inside of his head or outside of his prison door. He continues to shake and tremble as the cold seeps into his bones and his need for blood increases. It feels as though he is in the depths of Hell itself.

Faces taunt him, nightmarish images filled with evil. Pain strips away at any strength that he has left.

He is utterly alone and no one else has been here since Maria left him. He misses her company and he finds that, in his darkest depths, strange. He’s never really needed anyone before, no one has needed him. Except for perhaps Mary and now she’s dead. He murdered her. .

He doesn’t remember it, not clearly. The slices of memory that he does have makes it feel as though someone else had committed the crime, that he was just a bystander. Would he have killed her if he had more knowledge?  He closes his eyes as the chaotic visions flash in a jumbled mess inside of his head.

She didn’t make a sound. Would he have recognised her if she had? He still doesn’t understand why her eyes were covered.

He has been forgotten about. Is this his punishment? Maybe in the future his bones will be found, yellowed and gnawed at by rats.

He hears footsteps.

* * *

 

Maria brings the woman into his outer chamber and for a brief moment he is surprised. She is nothing like how he pictured her to be. For one, she is young and her hair is the colour of flame. He exchanges a long look at Maria and he waits.

He watches as she directs her to a seat opposite his desk and sees how her eyes dart around the room, taking in the furnishings, taking in him. She’s wondering about him, who he is and what he could possibly want with her. He stands beside the window with his arms folded and waits until they are alone. He watches her for a moment before he approaches her. Her dark brown eyes fix upon his face as he unfolds his arms and comes closer to her. Her gaze is steady and surprisingly confident.

Wyndam pauses in front of her. She shows him absolutely no fear and he does not know whether to be amused or perturbed by it.

“Alice,” he greets as if they are acquaintances. She stares steadily at him but he sees an initial flare of alarm in her eyes.

“How do you know who I am?” she enquires.

He looks at her, a trace of amusement on his face. “You’re the town’s _witch_ I believe…or is the term wise woman? I forget these days but I believe they more or less mean the same thing.”  Alice expression slowly changes to one of curiosity. Wyndam waits as understanding quickly follows.

“I know what you are,” she informs him loftily. This makes Wyndam smile. It’s a brief flash and it usually catches the uninitiated off guard because despite his demeanour, it has charm.

“What I am? I’m almost certain my dear that you don’t. Not really.” He pulls up a second chair close to her and lowers himself onto it and he leans forward and stares at her. For a moment neither speaks as his eyes scan her face.  “You interest me Alice. According to my…associate, you have quite the reputation in town. Some of your neighbours believe you to have…abilities… and they fear you accordingly.” Amusement dances in his eyes. “But you don’t. You’re no more a witch than I am a werewolf.” He waits and sees how her eyes widen. He smiles again.

“How do I know about such creatures? Well I _could_ tell you and I can see that you’re a woman of intelligence but in truth you would fall onto your knees and scream for mercy if I told you what truly existed in the shadows of humanity. If I _really_ wanted to then I could introduce you to the very worst of it.” His voice is velvet soft. He sees her expression of shock and enjoys it.

“You tell a good tale sir,” the woman stutters and Wyndam has to admire her a little for her tenacity, her bravery. He chuckles quietly.

“A tale is it? I wish that it was but that is not important at this moment. What _is_ important is some information which I require from you, that you are going to give to me.” He pauses and stares at her. “A purchase was made from you. A potion, some might call it a poison. It contained belladonna.” He watches her carefully and sees her eyes change slightly, become shifty.

“And what of it? I sell a lot of potions to a lot of people, my services are popular.”

“That may be true but I need the name of someone who purchased a belladonna potion from you most recently. It is of great importance to me.” He doesn’t raise his voice.

“And if I give you this name, what will it be worth?” she asks. Wyndam sighs.

“Your life Mistress, it would be worth your life. If you lie to me then it is forfeit. If you tell me the truth and it is proved to be the truth then you shall leave unharmed.”

“You mean to harm me if I chose to keep my secrets? As you’ve already stated, my townsfolk believe that I have abilities…”

“And I have already reminded _you_ that _that_ is a lie. Which is it to be? Or how about this idea, I kill you anyway? You are of no importance to me in the grand scheme of things, just a smudge ready to be wiped away. If you fail to supply me with the information that I require then you’ll be taken to a room in the cellar of this property and you will be summarily wiped away, forgotten.” He straightens in his seat as her eyes widen. “You pretend to hold power; you have your townsfolk in your thrall. I _do_ hold power and you have no _idea_ what I could do to you and to them if I put my mind to it. So what is your choice?” He watches the colour drain out of her face. She swallows and looks down at her smooth unlined elegant hands for a moment. When she lifts her head again, her expression is different, the bravery has disappeared.

“He said his name was Hal Yorke.” she whispers.

Wyndam frowns at her.

“That is not the answer that I wished to hear.”  She flinches back as he quickly gets to his feet and her eyes widen as he holds out a hand. She stares at it and then up at him warily.

“You must accompany me mistress. Do not worry, you will be safe,” he assures her and watches as she slowly rises to her feet. She places her hand in his.

* * *

 

Hal lifts his head from his knees when he hears the shuffle of footsteps pause outside of his door. He pushes himself backwards as the door is unlocked and the bar is drawn back and he only stops when his back connects with the bare rough wall. He ignores the scrape of pain it causes and he waits. Is this the moment where his fate is decided? He’s frozen to the floor and his eyes widen as the door opens and he sees Wyndam enter, a torch in his hand. Beside him is a young woman with red hair.

“The man who purchased the belladonna potion…is this him?” Wyndam asks her. They move closer to him, standing over him and he stares at them both. The girl peers at him and she frowns.

“No. This is not him. He’s not tall enough to begin with and his hair…it was darker, much darker.” Wyndam looks down at Hal and then back to his guest.

“Thank you.” He turns to the two guards who stand in the doorway.

“I want you to escort the lady back upstairs and out of the property. Make sure that she leaves safely.” He looks back at her and smiles very slightly.

“Thank you mistress, safe journey,” he murmurs and watches as she leaves.  He catches the eye of one of the guards and he subtly nods. He then turns to look back at Hal. He then leans down, grasps his arm and hauls him to his feet. He holds onto his arm as the younger vampire sways unsteadily for a moment.

“Come with me,” he instructs and lets go of him. Hal frowns.

“Where are we going?” he asks as Wyndam begins to walk away. He pauses and looks at him.

“Don’t ask questions, just do as you are bid.” He turns and Hal has no option but to follow.

* * *

 

They head along the narrow corridor, past other heavily fortified wooden doors to a narrow stone staircase. Without pausing to see if he was close by, Wyndam climbs up them and Hal follows obediently. He still has no real idea what is going on but he is happy to be free of his prison and he hopes that will be able to feed soon. He’s feeling quite hollow headed.

They are climbing upwards and the only light is the low orange glow of Wyndam’s torch. He doesn’t speak and Hal knows better than to ask any further questions. Wyndam opens a door and cautiously emerges. He looks back to Hal.

“This way and be quick,” he hisses. Hal does as he is told.

They’re near to Wyndam’s chambers he realises. He keeps behind him as they hurry along a deserted corridor and into his outer chamber. Wyndam skirts around him and closes the door behind Hal and regards him.

He’s lost the pink cheeks and the confused aura of a couple of days ago but he recognises the hunger. The boy hasn’t fed since all of this began, a deliberate punishment meted out by Snow. No one has dared to disobey it.

“You need to clean up and food will be provided. Maria will take care of you.” And as if on cue, another door to the side opens and Maria emerges. Hal watches how she smiles at him and approaches him.

“What is going on?” he enquires in bewilderment. He sees how they exchange looks. Wyndam sighs.

“You told Maria that the evening of your celebration, that you could only remember parts of it. That you were very drunk and that you felt hot and overheated,” he begins.

“We believe that you were poisoned. It caused you to lose control and that’s why you killed Mary in the manner that you did,” he continues.

“I would not harm her, I didn’t know she was there, I would not have invited her,” Hal retorts and Wyndam holds up a hand and Hal’s flow of words ceases.

“We know. Someone did this to you Hal.”

“Who?” he asks and sees how they exchange another look.

“You will bathe and eat and dress and be ready to depart for the Great Hall in an hour or so. All will be revealed then. Maria will keep you company, you seem to enjoy it.” He glances at her once more and then leaves. Hal watches him depart before swinging around to look at Maria once again.

“Who?” he demands. Maria looks away.

“Your bath will be ready shortly, I’ll send someone to get you some food and after that you need to rest awhile.” She goes to move past him but he grabs her arm.

“I’m not a child!” he hisses at her and she sighs.

“Then please don’t act like one.” His grip tightens and her eyes darken

“Maria…you must tell me,” he demands. She looks at him and she firmly pulls her arm free.

“Don’t ask questions Hal, all will be revealed in good time,” she promises him.

* * *

 

Wyndam walks into the Great Hall. It’s reasonably busy and he pauses in the entrance and his eyes scan over the faces. He sees him seated at a long table. James is in deep conversation with Louis and with him sits two other vampires, faces that do not interest him. Wyndam waits and presently James lifts his head and sees him. Wyndam beckons him over and watches the tall red haired vampire rise to his feet and almost eagerly cross the room to him.

“My Lord Wyndam?”

He looks at him and his eyes narrow very slightly. “You did a good deed in presenting me with Hal’s letter. When presented with it, he admitted to it all. Mr Snow is deciding on his punishment as I speak. You and I however have matters to discuss.” He sees the excitement that suddenly sparks in his eyes.

“We do?”

“Mr Winterbourne, do not take me for a fool. Of course we do. I travelled many miles across Europe only to be disappointed. I need a pupil and you will be handsomely rewarded. We can discuss details of this reward at a later time. Shall we say, here at sunset?” he suggests. James nods enthusiastically and then seems to pull himself together. He gives a bow.

“I’ll be here, thank you My Lord; I promise you that you will not regret your decision.” Wyndam gives him a long look. Then he glances at Louis who is watching them silently.

“I know that I won’t. Bring your friend Louis too,” he murmurs.

* * *

 

He returns to his chambers after a meeting with Snow and an arrangement that he attend the Great Hall at a later time. He is tired and he is hungry. This was only supposed to be a short trip, one where he was to collect his new charge and return home. How it has descended into this madness, he doesn’t know. He is heartily sick of it all and he misses home all of a sudden.

He sees Maria in the outer chamber and she is alone. He looks around.

“Where is our charge?”

“Sleeping…and yes he is still there, I looked in on him not two minutes ago. He has bathed, he has eaten and he is sleeping. He has a lot of questions Edgar.”

He heads towards a chair beside the fire and he sits down. “Of course he does and they will be answered in good time. He must learn patience.” Maria approaches him and she hands him a glass. For a moment Wyndam looks at it before he looks back up at her.

“Has he fed?”

“Just a little, enough to take the edge off his hunger. He must be allowed to feed properly soon, he’s ravenous.” Wyndam takes a sip from his glass and allows his eyes to briefly blacken. He looks at her again, his vision clearing.

“And he will be, don’t worry. I need him like this for now.” His fingers tighten around the stem of the glass. He drains it of its contents.

* * *

 

Hal emerges into Wyndam’s outer chamber. He is seated before the fire and Maria is seated opposite him. Both of them turn their heads in his direction and Maria is on her feet in an instant.  He watches as she approaches him.

“You look much better,” she comments and he blinks somewhat sleepily at her. Then he turns his attention to Wyndam.

“What is going on? Why all the secrecy?” He looks at him and he gets to his feet.

“We’re setting a trap and we need to leave now in order to prime it. Are you ready?” Hal stares back at him, puzzled.

“You were _poisoned_ Hal, aren’t you in the slightest bit curious to know who is responsible for this? Who would glory in your downfall?” His smile is faint. “Don’t you want to be a part in their downfall too?” he all but whispers.

* * *

 

More secret passages. Hal is between Wyndam and Maria as they make their way along them. They’re simply built and the smell of dust and mould tickle his nostrils. He keeps quiet and instead he wonders who it is that has engineered all of this. He does not like being at a disadvantage.

They emerge into the Great Hall from a narrow door hidden in the wood panelling. Wyndam pauses and he turns to look at Hal.

“Whatever you do, you must remain seated and you must remain quiet and you must listen. It’s about control Hal and Maria tells me that you excel in maintaining control. Follow me.” He glances at Maria as they cross the empty hall. The tables are empty but soon enough the room will be busy again. They go to the head table and Wyndam directs Hal to one of the chairs. He realises that it is Mr Snow’s chair and his eyes widen.

“Sit. Don’t worry, you have his permission,” Wyndam tells him and slowly Hal does as he is bid.

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter Ten.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trap is set.

**Chapter Ten:**

There’s a shift in the atmosphere and Hal sees Mr Snow enter. With him are two other vampires, they are tall and powerfully built and Hal recognises them as bodyguards. He eyes them warily. He straightens in his chair and as Snow approaches them, he slowly rises. He waits as Snow regards him.

“Hal,” he greets and there is a benign smile on his pale face. Hal swallows.

“My Lord,” he murmurs back.

“Edgar has explained the situation to me, rather unfortunate it would seem. Please, sit down. I don’t mind in the slightest.” He turns and looks to Wyndam. “Everything is arranged?” he enquires and Wyndam nods.

“Their arrival is imminent,” he tells him and at that moment Maria strides towards them both.

“They’re on their way,” she tells them in a low voice and Hal wants to know who it is that they’re talking about. Wyndam turns and looks at Hal.

“Remember what I said,” he mutters and Hal nods and watches as both of Snow’s bodyguards stand in front of the table, in front of him, effectively blocking him from view. Snow and Wyndam stand a little further along. He lifts his head and watches as Maria comes to sit beside him. She sees the question in Hal’s eyes and she lifts a finger to her lips. Hal frowns.

“Ah…Mr Winterbourne and Louis…I’m sorry we weren’t formally introduced so I have no way of knowing how to address you.” Wyndam’s tone is solicitous and Hal’s head snaps around when he hears their names being spoken.

Then he remembers what Wyndam instructed him to do. Remain quiet, in his seat and to listen.

Wyndam watches as both James and Louis enter the Great Hall. The room is lit with torches and it sends a flickering glow around the interior of the large room. He sees how they glance at Snow’s companions.

“I did not realise that we would have an audience sir,” James begins. He sends another wary glance Snow’s way.

“This change of circumstances requires my permission James. Did you think that Edgar’s decision to replace Hal is a decision made by only him? No.” He straightens slightly. “When I decide to send a vampire to be…educated and polished, it has to be done correctly. I need to see for myself that the choice is a correct one. Hal would have been a perfect pupil for Edgar. Such a shame…” he sighs and Wyndam glances briefly at him.

“It was indeed a shame. He had such potential. I had such hopes for him, hopes that I shared with you if you care to remember?” Wyndam looks at him.  He sees how James looks between them.

“How long has it been since you were recruited James? Where were you recruited, you will have to refresh my memory. I follow the progress of many vampires but quite a few slip through the net. Hal was such a vampire.”

“I was recruited a century ago sir, just after Agincourt,” he answers and Wyndam nods thoughtfully.

“And how long have you been a member of Mr Snow’s household?”

“I’m not sure sir; I know that it has been quite a while.”

“Hmmm…and Hal was recruited … barely ten years ago I think.” He looks to Snow as if looking for confirmation and Snow nods. Wyndam sighs. “It must have…annoyed you that that… _upstart_ managed to acquire something that you have hoped for so long would happen to you. Ten years or less in the making and here he is, appearing out of nowhere, his arrogance attracting all sorts of attention, the women flocking around him and Mr Snow summoning me from my cosy estate in England to give him a little bit of a polish. It must have galled you that this happened to him and not to you.” He stands up straighter, his gaze fixed on his face, a face that is gradually becoming paler.

“Sir…” Wyndam lifts an imperative hand and James’s words halt.

“You thought that you were being so clever. You knew about Hal’s friendship with Mary, you knew that despite everything, despite his nature, that he would never harm her. You also knew about Mr Snow’s rule about no one being harmed, especially Mistress Mary but you were jealous, insanely jealous of Hal weren’t you?”

“No sir…Hal is my friend…when he arrived Louis and I took him under our wings, we took care of him, showed him the ways of the household.”

Wyndam’s expression darkens. “I remember our conversation of the night that I arrived Mr Winterbourne. You told me that Hal was sweet on Mary and reluctant to leave her, that he was thinking about recruiting her. I may be an Old One but I am not an idiot,” he hisses at him.

“This is just rumour sir, a theory…” he begins. His words stutter to a halt once again when Wyndam takes a step back and extracts something from this inside of his coat. It’s a piece of paper.

“No Mr Winterbourne, not a rumour. You yourself gave me my proof…in this letter.” He holds it aloft before reading it. He looks at James once more.

“This letter is…rather… _expressive_ don’t you think, a plea from a man pining for his love to pay one last _secret_ visit before his departure?” He folds it up and reaches inside his coat again. He takes out another similar piece of paper.

“During my meeting with him, I asked Hal whether he could read or write and he told me that he could…passably.” He places the paper on the table beside James and he looks down at it as Wyndam extracts the first sheet of paper which he also places on the table so that they’re side by side.  “I asked that he show me how passably he could write and well…you can see the results for yourself.” One is a page of flowing, beautifully written script and if Wyndam hadn’t seen Hal’s own example for himself then he may have well believed it to have come from him. The other example is untidy and dotted with ink spots. The idea is there but the letters are poorly formed and hesitant. Hal had not liked this request at all.

“They are very different don’t you agree?” Wyndam enquires, looking at James. His mouth opens and closes for a moment.

“Hal is very cunning My Lord, who is to say that he didn’t provide both samples and deliberately used bad letter formation and untidiness?” James answers defensively. Wyndam turns and looks at him.

“Because of the added bait of Mary and let’s not forget about the belladonna potion. Yes, I know about the poison.” He smiles at his look of shock. “The only way that Hal would attack and kill Mary is to be not of his right mind. We have been a witness to his night terrors and I have heard it told that during his celebration Hal was loud, argumentative and especially difficult in his behaviour. Then there is the disposal of Rose, the camp follower and there is also the fact that Mistress Alice described a _completely_ different gentleman to Hal as the one who purchased the potion though he gave Hal’s name.” At this, Wyndam turns his attention to Louis.

“Her description of _that_ Hal Yorke sounded very much like you Louis.”

Absolute silence falls in the Great Hall. Then Wyndam looks back at James.

“Jealousy is indeed a dangerous, corrosive emotion Mr Winterbourne. It eats away at a soul without mercy. Hal has been punished because of you and your underhanded dealings. I am always interested in quick thinking, in strength of mind and wit. I’m intrigued by intelligence and how it is applied. While you have this and possibly more, your jealousy overpowers all of it.”

“And you have called me here to inform me of that? What is to be my punishment for using my quick thinking, strength of mind and my intelligence?” James retorts. A faint ghost of a smile crosses Wyndam’s face.

“Where do you think Hal is at this very moment in time Mr Winterbourne? What do you think he would say to all of this skulduggery and trickery?” He waits a brief moment.  “I know. Shall we ask him?”

* * *

 

Wyndam turns his head and as if on cue, the two bodyguard vampires move away from their position in front of the head table. James’s eyes go wide when he sees Hal seated in Snow’s chair, his feet on the table, idly cleaning his fingernails with a long silver bladed dagger. After a moment he lifts his head and he looks at Louis who by now has moved a little closer to James, then to James himself and then finally at Wyndam.

“I only curse the fact that I couldn’t see this plot for myself. That I was so… _idiotic_ not to recognise it for what it truly was. A celebration with a cask of Mr Snow’s finest wines?” He makes a rude sound with his lips as he lowers his legs to the ground and gets to his feet in one quick agile movement. No one else speaks as he skirts the table.

“The only way that you could hope to better me was to try and take my place. The only way _that_ could happen was for you to implicate me in a plot so heinous that the only punishment would be my complete eradication.” He stops in front of the small group.  “And the only way that was going to happen was for you to drug me, to try and poison me, knowing what you know about my past… _difficulties_.” His voice lowers.

“You are n _obody_ ” James bites back, his voice low and vibrant with anger.

“Yet quite innocently I managed to capture the attention of both Mr Snow and Edgar Wyndam. Imagine that. ” He holds the dagger in his hand. It had been left in front of him as he had taken his seat and as he looks down at it he wonders whether it was placed there deliberately. He wields it and presses the edge of the blade against James’s neck and watches as he goes absolutely still.

“Remember that conversation we had at dinner the other evening James? How you accused me of being afraid?” His hand is steady, the blade slicing into the thin skin, against where Hal knows the blood will flow the easiest. He watches with abstract fascination as a bright red bead bubbles up against the silver.  “You accused me of being afraid and I reminded you that while I was indeed fearless, I was also not stupid. Your stupidity is what let you down James. Your arrogant abject stupidity.” He begins to walk and helplessly James is forced to go backwards with him. His back bumps against the wood panelled wall and both men are once again still.

His voice lowers. “You do this to me? You sacrifice an innocent life to humiliate me? She was my _friend_.”

“You would have killed her one day,” James hisses back at him and Hal tilts his head to one side.

“You don’t know that,” he replies softly and James slowly smiles.

“It was worth it. Your public humiliation, your downfall and knowing that I had done that to you was worth all of it. And she came so willingly, she truly believed you were the author of that note. Right up until I offered her the wine and tied the scarf across her eyes, she believed that you loved her.” James whispers. Slowly Hal lowers the blade but he does not break eye contact. His chin comes up and emotion burns at the backs of his eyes at his cruel words.

“You’ve made one grievous error James,” he whispers to him, pushing his face closer to him. The amusement begins to fade from James’s eyes. Hal turns the blade around and presses the tip of it against the soft skin of his throat.

“You were so desperate for attention but you didn’t best me. You only thought that you did.” He puts his mouth against his ear. He pauses for a brief moment.

“Think again.”

* * *

 

James’s eyes bulge as with one vicious move, Hal forces the tip of the dagger into the front of his throat. He chokes as blood gushes out of the wound and over Hal’s hand. His hands come up and then drop uselessly by his sides as more flows from his mouth. Hal stares steadily at him and gives the blade one final brutal twist. James gives a final agonised gasp and then he is still.

Wyndam comes to stand beside Hal and he surveys James’s body.  He watches Hal takes a step back and James slides to the floor, the knife protruding obscenely from the front of his neck. Hal is pale but he is completely composed. Wyndam holds out a wooden stake.

“Do you want to finish the job?” he asks and Hal looks at it and then at him.  A mist of fine droplets of James’s blood paints his face. He shakes his head and turns. He sees Snow standing beside Louis and that he is flanked by the two bodyguards of before. Slowly he approaches them.

“Well met Mr Yorke, well met. And what of this one?” Snow asks, tilting his head towards Louis. Hal looks at him. He’s reminded of how tall and powerfully built he is. He also sees the terror in his eyes.

“He can live and with it and in turn he will never forget my generosity. I’m sure we can find him a position within Mr Wyndam’s household where I can keep an eye on him.” He stares at him. Louis looks away but not before Hal sees the flash of gratitude that replaces that former fear.

“I’m certain Edgar will not have any complaints about that.” Both of them turn to him, to see him straightening up, watching James’s motionless body dissolve into ash and cobwebs. Hal looks back at Snow.

“If I may be excused?” he requests. Snow inclines his head.

“Of course,” he demurs and Hal walks out of the Great Hall.

* * *

 

Snow watches Wyndam approach him. In one hand is the stake and in the other is the dagger. He sees Louis still standing beside Snow and he pauses.

“And what of him?” he enquires, pointing the tip of the blade in his direction. Snow glances at him.

“Hal wants him kept alive; he thinks you may find a use for him.”

Wyndam arches an eyebrow. “Does he now?”

“He spared his life and in turn that makes it his to decide upon, I think he has earned it don’t you?” Wyndam casts another look Louis’s way. He’s waxen pale and sweating slightly.

“He has,” he sighs and looks at him.

“Your life, such as it is belongs to Hal now. Be thankful for that; be thankful you didn’t meet the end of your friend back there. Be ready to depart tomorrow.” He sees how Louis nods, pathetically relieved. They watch him scuttle away. Wyndam looks around the Great Hall.

“Where is Hal?”

Snow just shrugs. “Returned to his chamber I imagine,” he answers.

* * *

 

Hal returns to his chamber and he sits on the bed. He looks down at his blood soaked hands and clenches them into tight fists. He thinks of Mary and his throat tightens and tears swell in his eyes. He lifts his head and he takes a breath and swipes them away.

He has had his vengeance. Now he must face England’s shores.

He starts when he hears the knock on his door. He frowns. Not now. He takes a deep breath and gets to his feet. He approaches the door and opens it.

The two men stare at each other.

“You did well in there,” Wyndam begins. Hal doesn’t answer.

“You will be better in time. We leave early tomorrow so you must be ready.” Hal just nods.

“The sooner I am gone from this place, the happier I shall be,” he mutters. Wyndam takes a step towards him and places a hand on his shoulder.

“You haven’t fed properly, you must be starved.” Hal regards him. He’s right, ever since he was released from his cell he has been battling to keep the hunger pangs at bay. The lack of blood has made him a little unsteady, a little more…angry.

“Come with me. I have just the thing for you.”

* * *

 

She looks up when she hears the scrape of the bar being drawn back from the door and the click of a lock being turned. Her previous rage has dulled somewhat and she refuses to allow the waiting fear to replace it. She watches as two men enter. She can’t see their faces, they’re in shadow but she recognises the outline of one of them. She straightens, her heart beat increasing. She shouldn’t have believed him when he said that she would be safe, that she would be afforded safe passage from this place. She should have realised after what he’d revealed to her that her life was forfeit from the moment she stepped over the threshold.

Evil blooms in this place. It lives and it breathes like the trees, like the flowers that grow outside. The roots of it are deep and all pervading. She moves backwards as they come closer to her until her back is pressed against the cold damp wall.

“Hal…meet Alice.” That voice introduces and Alice watches him step into the dim torchlight. Her eyes widen in recognition.

“You…” she whispers. Hal regards her almost curiously. Alice looks to his companion. He stands near to his shoulder, holding onto that lit torch.

“He’s hungry you see. Don’t worry, it will be quick,” he murmurs. Alice looks back at Hal and he’s still watching her and his gaze is steady. His head tilts slightly to one side and she feels honest fear curdle in the pit of her stomach.

“What…who are you?” she stammers, her eyes going wide.

“I thought you already knew what we are my dear,” the other man replies. He moves away but not before Alice sees Hal’s eyes bleed black, before she hears an unearthly hiss. She sees fangs and panic slams into her.

She screams as he attacks.

 

 

 


	11. Chapter Eleven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edgar and Hal prepare to leave.

**Chapter Eleven:**

Hal does not want to be here but Snow has demanded his presence. Even though he has fed, inside he still feels as though he has been scrubbed raw. His insides ache and he wants to be alone to think.

There is a strange tension in the air as he makes his entrance. Across the room he sees Snow holding court, seated on a dais on another ornate golden throne with deep red cushions. At either side of him are seated those who have garnered his current approval. Hal won’t call them favourites as he himself has realised, Snow’s moods can change on a whim and favourites seems to be too generous a term to use. He looks for Wyndam but doesn’t see either him or Maria in the room just yet. He subconsciously straightens his spine as Snow’s attention turns towards him and a smile lights up his marble face.

He beckons him across and Hal makes his way to his side.

“Hal. How good of you to join us,” he greets. Hal pauses in front of him and inclines his head. Snow makes it sounds as though he had a choice in the matter but he wisely holds his counsel.

“I would not miss it,” he responds levelly. He watches as he indicates an empty chair to his right.

“Sit down, Edgar will be along shortly. He’s always busy, fingers in every pie imaginable.”  He turns to one of his companions and in that moment Hal is forgotten. He goes to the indicated chair and sits on it. He’s aware of the speculation; he’s seen more than one glance sent in his direction. Is he supposed to feel some kind of guilt or remorse for what he did to James? He doesn’t feel anything except a mild annoyance that he allowed himself to be so completely fooled by him. It would seem he considered him a friend only until he stepped over him to climb the ladder of promotion and how he had retaliated!  He lifts his head and it’s then he notices the myriad of new faces. There are many and he does not recognise any of them. They regard him with passing curiosity. They are wondering about him and why he is seated where he is.

He sees Wyndam arrive and he has Maria on his arm.

* * *

 

Wyndam glances briefly at Maria.

“Are you ready for this?” he enquires. He sees how her eyes slide across the collection of faces. Her smile is stiff and polite.

“As ever I must be. How many people did he invite?” Her lips barely move but he hears every word.

“Possibly every single one of his acquaintances…we shall not stay long,” he promises her in an equally low voice.

Wyndam smiles as he is surrounded by vampires. He knows all of them, has had dealings with many of them.

“I see Hal,” Maria murmurs in his ear and Wyndam lifts his head. He sees him seated close to Snow and he looks bored.

“Bring him here,” he tells her and watches as she moves away to do his bidding.

* * *

 

Hal watches as Maria approaches him.

“Wyndam requires your presence,” she tells him once she’s within hearing distance and he frowns.

“For what?” he demands and Maria frowns as she gets closer to him.

“It’s not for you to question or to disagree Hal, you must do as you are bid,” she whispers at him and his frown deepens.

“I’m tired of doing what I am bid to do,” he spits back and she sighs.

“It will not be for very long. You owe him Hal, you owe him everything,” she retorts as her eyes become diamond hard. Hal sighs and stands up. Maria waits and then slides her arm through his.

“What are you doing?” Hal enquires as they approach Wyndam.

“I don’t like these events very much. These parties Snow holds the night before the full moon. I’m sick of some of these upstarts trying to touch parts of me that they have no permission in touching. At least with you beside me they will cease trying,” she mutters. He glances at her and then casts a look around at the variety of people present. He looks back at her.

“I’m surprised they are still alive,” he comments, his previous petulant mood evaporating and he is satisfied to hear her chuckle.

“I’m on my best behaviour tonight Hal otherwise they wouldn’t be, not in the ways that matter.” She smiles as they join Wyndam.

“Ah and here he is…” Wyndam begins and holds out an arm and obediently Hal goes to his side. His hands go behind his back as he surveys the faces that examine him with open uncomfortably open curiosity.

“This is why I’m here William…” he begins and Hal glances at him for a moment and sees his attention fixed upon someone who is standing across from him. He also looks at him and sees a tall thin gentleman. There is barely an ounce of extra flesh on his bones and those bones are long and slender. His black hair is brushed back from his face and his eyes are deep set and dark. He looks like a walking cadaver.

“This is Hal Yorke,” Wyndam introduces. Hal nods his head but doesn’t speak.

“So you are finished with Robert are you?” William enquires, more or less completely ignoring Hal.  Wyndam nods.

“He’s doing well the last that I heard. He endeavours to keep in touch,” he replies. He watches how William then looks at Hal with an intensity that many find unnerving. Hal stares back at him, barely blinking.

“So you’re Alexei’s recruit.” William’s voice rises slightly and any conversation being held within the small group fades away. Hal straightens and he lifts his chin.

“He was the one who afforded me this life, yes,” he replies in a quieter tone. William’s eyes narrow slightly.

“And yet you ended him.” William’s tone is blunt. There is a brief but tense pause.

“I did,” Hal confirms.

“I must ask why,” William demands, a spark of anger flashing in those dark eyes of his. Wyndam watches the exchange with mild interest.

“You may ask sir but I will not tell you why,” Hal answers with just enough manners to be civil. Wyndam sees William’s expression darken further.

“He was a good man!” he hisses, his skin flushing with barely concealed anger. Wyndam sees how Hal glances at him before he speaks.

“That is your opinion. Unfortunately it was not mine.” He looks at the other people present within their group. He then returns his attention to Wyndam.

“With you permission sir, I should like to depart. We have an early start tomorrow and I am feeling very… _weary_.” His tone is excruciatingly polite.

“Of course Hal,” he answers. Hal bows his head and he turns. The group watch him as he weaves his way through the crowds of people until he disappears from view.

“ _That’s_ your newest protégé?” William hisses. Wyndam turns his head and regards him.

 He grins. “That is Hal. He’s an interesting fellow isn’t he?”

* * *

 

“Did you know that Mr Snow was organising tonight’s party?” Maria enquired. They are seated together on the edge of the room out of the way of immediate attention. Wyndam is glad for her company. He has barely had a moment to himself. He must have spoken to every single vampire in this room and then Maria had reappeared bearing wine.

“I should have realised given that tomorrow is the full moon but I have been somewhat…preoccupied,” he answers and he takes a sip of his wine. He wishes for something more potent but that will have to wait a little longer. All of a sudden he feels weary.

She smiles at him. “Ah yes. The full moon. Have you been down to see Snow’s latest pet?”

“I may have looked in on him. It’s a pity we have to depart tomorrow; I should have liked to have put a wager on him to win of course. I’ve heard that he’s almost invincible.”

“On his hind quarters he is taller than most men. They don’t stand a chance.”

Wyndam glances at her. “You sound very confident my pet, have you also placed a wager on him to win?” he enquires and she grins at him.

“You know me well Edgar.”

Wyndam quietly chuckles. “Indeed I do. Well I must take your leave. Tomorrow will be a long day.” He begins to rise and Maria follows suit.

“As must I. Escort me to my rooms?” she requests. Wyndam looks at her and after a moment he holds out an arm.

“Let’s make it quick otherwise we may be stuck here until dawn,” he mutters.

* * *

 

“Hal is very quiet,” Maria comments once they are free from the celebration.

“Wouldn’t you be? It was a nasty business.” They begin to walk, heading towards Maria’s chamber.

She looks at him “And then there is tonight’s event. He handled William particularly well don’t you think?”

“He did I have to admit. With a civility that I have to disclose I quite admired. I wouldn’t have been so polite. William was very rude.”

Maria sighs. “William is never polite Edgar; we know he’s an acquired taste at the best of times but he _was_ close to Alexei. Why did you introduce Hal to him?” Wyndam looks at her and a secretive smile plays around his lips.

“You really have to ask? And I wanted to see how the boy would handle himself.”

“Ah, a test,” Maria guesses.

“One he seems to have passed. He has immense self-control for one so young.”

“I’ve never seen it before, newly made vampires tend to be…volatile and hard to handle but Hal is different,” Maria comments.

“I thought he was just like other young vampires when I was first introduced to him. He certainly gave that impression but then as I got to know him…and then witnessed the situation with James…” His voice tapers off.

“The incident with James has cast quite the pall over everything and everyone. He was very popular,” Maria tells him and he looks at her. He frowns.

“He deserved what happened to him, he brought it on himself. He plotted against Hal and he was discovered and suitably punished.”

“And why didn’t you despatch of him yourself? You laid the groundwork; I thought for sure you would end him, which is what you would normally do.”

Wyndam glances at her. “I wanted to see what Hal is made of, what _he_ would do. I wanted to see whether this reputation he has garnered is worthwhile.”

“And is it?” she looks at him and she sees the gleam in his eye as he remembers how he had thrust that blade through James’s throat. The blade had sliced all the way through. He was particularly impressed by the speed and the viciousness of how he operated.

“I’m beginning to see what it is that fascinates Snow so much. I’m beginning to realise why he asked for me. He could be someone formidable with the right amount of…training and influence,” Wyndam confesses. He smiles to himself.

“It is going to be a fascinating process to see who will emerge.”

* * *

 

They walk for a little while more.

“So what happens now?” she asks as they come close to her rooms and he pauses by her door.

“Hal and I depart for England early tomorrow. He has expressed a desire to leave; all of this has left a very bad taste in his mouth.”

“Did he like the witch?” she asks and Wyndam smiles.

“He did. It was good thinking on your part to keep her for him. She put up quite a spirited fight but was no match for a hungry, anger-fuelled vampire.”

“Peter and Phillip are clearing out her property as I speak. By the time they’re finished, it will be as though she never existed. As far as the townsfolk are concerned, she left in the dead of night.” He sees how her eyes twinkle.

“You always were a devious one Maria, that mind of yours will get you into trouble one day,” Wyndam responds lightly and she quietly chuckles in response.

“If I may ask a favour of you Edgar…” she begins.

“Name it.” He pretends not to see the surprise in her eyes.

“I have a hankering to visit my English home again and I was wondering whether you and Hal would welcome an extra travelling companion?” she asks. Wyndam regards her.

“This is not a ruse to stay with Hal is it?” He watches how her eyes widen.

“Of course not.  I just think after today’s events, I would welcome a change of scenery,” she confides and he frowns.

“Someone has maligned you?” His voice goes dangerously soft. She shakes her head.

“No one would dare speak to me as such Edgar, you know that. I just would like to go home for a little while.” Wyndam regards her.

“You are more than welcome to accompany us Maria, you know that,” he assures her calmly and she smiles.

“Thank you Edgar. And also…thank you for what you did for Hal. You could have left him to suffer the fate of Snow’s whims but you didn’t. You fought for him and I am truly grateful.” Wyndam swallows, all of a sudden feeling mildly uncomfortable and exposed.

“It was nothing. You like the boy and you are a good judge of character,” he answers gruffly.

“As are you. You are the best judge of character that I know and he is your charge, not mine.  I want you to know that I appreciate what you did for him and I’m in your debt.”

“No you are not. You’re never in debt to me for anything Maria. Now come along, I plan an early start tomorrow and you must pack and rest, you know I don’t tolerate lateness.”

She smiles up at him. “I know you don’t and I’m already packed and ready to leave,” she responds and he raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, so you were confident I’d accept your request were you?” Maria doesn’t answer, she just shrugs, her eyes sparkling with mischief. Wyndam smiles once more.

“Time for you to sleep…I will see you in the morning, bright and early.” Maria takes a step towards him and she presses a kiss against his cheek. It takes him by surprise.

By the time he’s regained his equilibrium, she’s gone.

* * *

 

The sun is barely over the horizon when Wyndam emerges from the interior of the property. He looks up at the pinkish grey sky. It promises to be a good day for travelling and they have a long journey ahead of them. He pauses when he sees Hal standing beside the wagons that is loaded with their possessions. He is clad in unforgiving black, such as himself, a black leather doublet with velvet sleeves. He is also armed; Wyndam sees the belt holding his sword sheath around his waist.  He turns when he hears footsteps and watches Wyndam approach him.

“This must be a first. You are ready for the day ahead of me. We have an extra companion…”

“I have heard. Maria is to join us.”

“She may be on time to join us or she may be late. Either way she will be joining us,” Wyndam tells him.

“Oh Edgar, ye of little faith, I would not keep you waiting.” Maria’s voice chides him and both of them turn in her direction and Hal’s eyes widen with surprise.

 “Eyes forward…” Wyndam commands and he looks at him with wide startled eyes.

“But…”

“I _said_ eyes forward,” he repeats in a softer voice but the authority is not diminished. Obediently Hal does as he’s told as Maria comes to join them. She’s wearing travelling clothes, a doublet and breeches in dark green. Her shapely legs are on view for everyone to see and she seems most unaffected by it. Her hair has been pinned up and is hidden by a hat. The difference is most startling. Wyndam regards her.

“Your usual choice of travelling clothes my dear?” he enquires politely. She smiles up at him.

“Would you rather I wear my more cumbersome gowns? This is much more comfortable and practical. Do you have any objections Edgar? You usually don’t,” she enquires sweetly and he slowly shakes his head.

“Of course not but you gave poor Hal quite the start,” he answers and Hal’s head snaps around to look at him. His eyes narrow slightly.

“Oh Hal…you will quickly get used to my whims my dear. Is everything ready?” She looks to both of them.

“As far as I am aware, yes,” Wyndam replies, looking to Hal for confirmation. He just nods.

“And where is your newest servant?” Wyndam enquires and Hal inclines his head back towards the wagon and there is Louis, seated and ready to drive off.

“Ah,” Wyndam continues.

“He has taken the greatest of care of me since yesterday. I have not wanted for anything,” Hal tells him in a quiet voice. Wyndam’s blue eyes are sombre.

“You put the fear of God into him with the manner that you disposed of James. He will be hoping that you do not do the same to him.”

“And I won’t, if he does what I ask when I ask,” Hal answers in the quiet manner that Wyndam is getting used to as his way of speaking.  He looks to Maria.

“If we are ready to leave…”

* * *

 

Hal stands beside his horse and runs a hand over his black shining hide. The beast stands still, waiting patiently for him. He regards him. He’s had him for two years now, a last gift from Alexei. Hal slides his foot into the stirrup and launches himself into the saddle. He was a foot soldier before he was turned but he has always had an affinity with horses. He was always able to calm the especially skittish ones back home, back before…

He sits straight in the saddle and waits for both Wyndam and Maria to come into view.

“Beautiful animal, does he have a name?” Maria asks as she comes beside him. Hal tightens his grip on the reins as the horse side steps nervously.

“His name is Achilles,” Hal replies as he leans forward and strokes the beast’s neck reassuringly and gradually the horse calms down again. Maria smiles softly.

“It suits him; he’s a noble looking animal and named after one of the greatest Greek warriors.”

 Hal glances at her. “He was a gift from Alexei, he named him.”

“Alexei had a good eye,” Wyndam interrupts coming up on Hal’s other side and once more the horse begins to shy. Wyndam watches how he calms the animal and how the horse seems to settle almost instantly beneath his touch. He seems strangely confident on that horse, as if he were born to it. His eyes drop to the faded and slightly battered shield that is attached to the harness by the beast’s shoulder. He stares at it for a moment and then he remembers Hal’s earlier revelation that before recruitment he was a mercenary foot soldier. He assumes this shield is from that era. He stares at the faded red paint a moment longer before he lifts his head and looks at his waiting companions.

“Shall we depart?” he asks them. Hal looks at him and he nods.

* * *

 

“He does not say much,” Wyndam comments. Maria looks at Hal, who rides ahead of them. She glances back at him.

“I thought you would be grateful for that. Idle chatter annoys you does it not?”

“And absolute silence annoys me more,” he murmurs back at her and she bites back a smile.

“He is not ignoring you Edgar. He is just the quiet type, when he isn’t sleeping and lost in nightmares,” she quips and Wyndam rolls his eyes.

“I suppose I’m too used to prattling little sycophants only too eager to do my bidding”

“Hal is neither of those as you well know. In fact I believe that the quieter ones are the much more dangerous ones. We are never entirely sure what they are thinking about,” she reminds him and Wyndam returns his attention to Hal’s straight back.

“I agree,” he murmurs.

* * *

 

The sun is high in the sky when they make their first stop. Hal dismounts and momentarily stretches stiff and aching limbs. He turns as both Wyndam and Maria pause beside him. Hal looks up at Maria and holds out a gloved hand. She looks at him for a moment before she places her hand in his and allows herself to be helped down from the saddle. He turns his head as Wyndam comes into view.

“Time to eat don’t you think?” he suggests and Hal turns to look for Louis.

“An excellent idea,” he agrees.

They settle beside a fast flowing stream. Hal tethers the horses to a low lying branch of a nearby tree. He turns to see Maria with Wyndam. Their heads are together and they are quietly talking though he cannot hear what they are discussing. He approaches them and lowers himself down onto the grass beside them.

“How long until we reach our first destination?” Maria enquires. She sips at the wine that Louis has given to her. She looks enquiringly to Wyndam.

“We should arrive before nightfall.” he answers in a low voice and Hal frowns at the note of resolve in his voice.

“Why?” he asks and both Wyndam and Maria turn their heads and look at him and they seem surprised.

“It’s a full moon tonight,” Maria whispers and then she rolls her eyes at the look of puzzlement on Hal’s face.

“Surely Alexei told you what happens during a full moon, why every one of our kind must be indoors or at least out of harm’s way?” Slowly Hal shook his head.

“Oh that man…” she hisses crossly and she looks to Wyndam once more.

“The full moon is when werewolves roam,” Wyndam tells him and he watches as Hal’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Alexei should have told you of their existence,” Maria interrupts.

“Well he didn’t,” Hal retorts. The look Maria sends him is icy.

“Obviously,” she replies. Beside her, Wyndam clears his throat. The quarrelling duo fall silent.

“Werewolves are our enemy. Like us they are made rather than born and such a person can be made by a scratch or a bite from such a beast. By day they live among us but on the night of a full moon then they turn into ravenous beasts to be feared and kept away from. Once shed, their blood burns a vampire’s skin, if werewolf blood is consumed then it is fatal to a vampire, it burns us from the inside out.”

Hal hears the disgust in his voice. “You do not care for them?” He sees the glimmer in his blue eyes.

The look he sends Hal is dark. “They are vermin, base born and utterly below us. They can also sense our kind and they hate us accordingly.”

“How do we kill them?” Hal asks curiously.

“I’m sure there are ways, an arrow to the heart perhaps. They rampage, we try not to get too close to them and wait until sunrise.”

“And tonight is a full moon?” Wyndam inclines his head in a nod. Hal frowns.

“Have you ever come close to a werewolf?” he asks curiously. Wyndam turns his head slightly and Hal sees how his eyes seem to mist over with memory.

“Once…a very long time ago. It is not an experience I wish to repeat.  Be sure to hope that you never have to yourself,” he pauses and the slightest of smiles slips across his face “the stench of them is quite unbelievable.”

* * *

 

Hal moves away from the small group to sit beside the stream. Achilles is close by, cropping at the grass at his feet and to all intents and purposes at ease with his surroundings. Hal stares at the rushing babbling water for a moment or two. He empties his mind and thinks of nothing. He ignores the slow churning in his gut, the same churning that reminds him that England is becoming ever closer and ever more a reality to him. He lifts his face slightly and feels a soft warm breeze caress his face. Perhaps it won’t be so bad. Perhaps circumstances have changed. It’s been a while now.

Perhaps _he’s_ dead, that a kind soul has gutted him like the pig that he is. He frowns very slightly.

“Penny for them?” Maria’s voice startles him and he turns his head sharply. She comes closer and sits down on the bank beside him, her legs stretched out in front of her. He still cannot get used to seeing her legs like that, for all to see. He huffs out a sigh.

“A penny for what?” he asks. He looks at her but she doesn’t smile.

“Your thoughts.”

Hal looks away, down into the water and he watches fish flitting here and there beneath its silvery surface.  “They are not worth that,” he murmurs.

“Then what are they worth?” she asks. Once more he looks to her.

“Nothing. They are not worth a thing.” He climbs to his feet and strides away towards his horse.

Maria watches him as he talks quietly to the animal. There is very real affection for him in his eyes; she can see it quite clearly. He still will not open up enough to share more than the most trivial thoughts with her. Even after everything that has been done on his behalf. She gets to her feet and brushes dried grass from the back of her outfit and she walks towards him and untethers her own horse. Hal does not speak nor does he look at her.

“I am not the enemy Hal. Whoever it is that haunts your thoughts and your dreams at night, _that_ person is the enemy.” He turns his head and he looks at her.

“Nobody haunts my dreams,” he tells her.

“Yes they do, you’re just not brave enough to tell me his or her name just yet.”

 


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Werewolf.

**Chapter Twelve:**

As the day moves along and the sky begins to change colour, the atmosphere becomes thicker with tension within the travelling party. Everyone is vigilant and on their guard. No one speaks. No one indulges in mindless empty conversation to try and ease the strain.

Hal’s eyes scan the horizon and attempts to see more clearly through the trees at either side of the narrow rutted road.  The light is beginning to fail. He knows what that means, that they must be inside before the moon rises.

Ahead of him and equally watchful is Maria. He urges his horse on to ride beside her. She turns her head as he does so but there’s no smile of welcome on her face, no flirtatious twinkle in her eyes. She’s just as tense as everyone else but she tries to hide it beneath a veneer of composure.

The sky grows even more dusky and long with shadows. An unearthly scream shatters the stillness and behind him Hal hears one of the wagon horses give a distressed whinny and he turns in time to see one of them rear on its hind legs and then pull away. It's mate copies, given no choice but to follow and the wagon catapults away. Beneath him, Achilles twitches, his ears flatten against his skull and it takes Hal a moment or two to calm him. In the meantime the wagon has careered off the track and is racing through the forest.

Hal doesn’t think twice; he gives chase.

He bends low over the horse’s neck as he gallops after the panicking wagon horses. He sees one of the wheels of the wagon bounce over a partially hidden rock and it teeters drunkenly. He spurs Achilles on until he’s alongside the wagon. The vehicle bounces along and Hal hears the sound of splintering wood. He pushes his horse on until he’s alongside one of the terrified beasts and he leans forward and he leans across and reaches for one of the loose tangled reins. Out of the corner of his eye he sees someone else come up on the opposite side and do the same. He realises that it’s Maria. It takes a little time but eventually the horses slow to a stop. As soon as that happens Hal dismounts and hurries to the wagon. It rests at an awkward angle. He climbs up and he looks inside. Louis is lying in the back, having been thrown off his seat backwards as the wagon lurched forwards.

“Louis…” He climbs inside and watches his eyes slowly blink open.

“What…what happened?” he mumbles as Hal helps him to sit up.

“A fox scream scared the horses. You must have been knocked out. Come sit down.” He helps him off the wagon and to a patch of grass nearby. In the meantime Wyndam is there and he stands beside Maria as she calms the panting horses.

“Is there any damage?” Hal asks, coming to join them. Wyndam looks at him.

“Rear wheel is damaged.” He looks over Hal’s shoulder to Louis who still sits beneath the overhang of a large tree.

“How is your friend?” Hal glances at him.

“A little dazed but unharmed,” he replies and he goes to inspect the damaged wheel. He looks back at Wyndam.

“Is there a replacement in the wagon?” Wyndam nods.

“I’ll need help but I can make the wagon road worthy until we reach our destination,” he tells him.

“Then do it.”

* * *

 

The two younger vampires work together quickly and diligently but Wyndam can see that Hal is plainly in charge. A spare wheel was packed with the luggage along with requisite tools and Hal seems familiar with them all. Once more Wyndam is surprised and intrigued by him. His attention is distracted by Maria who stands nearby and watches the shadows. He slowly approaches her and sees her turn to look at him. She looks tense.

“How much longer?” she hisses quietly. Wyndam pauses beside her and he looks to Hal and Louis.

“Not much, they are nearly done,” he answers in an equally low voice.

“I wish to be gone from here Edgar. The moon has almost fully risen. I can _smell_ them!” she retorts through clenched teeth. Wyndam turns his head. The forest is quiet, apart from the sound of a breeze whispering through leaves and branches. His spine prickles. He looks back to Maria.

“Are you prepared?” He looks down as she draws her sword slightly from its sheath.

“Always,” she answers.

* * *

 

“Do you think there are werewolves nearby?” Louis whispers to Hal as they finish repairing the wheel. Hal looks at him and then he glances at Maria and Wyndam over one shoulder. Their vigilance has not gone unnoticed.

“I would think so, yes,” he tells him. He watches how his eyes widen and his skin goes paler.

“We are all armed. If there is trouble we will manage it,” he reassures him but he sees how Louis’s eyes dart around the enclosure. Hal grabs his arm and squeezes it.

“You must calm yourself otherwise foolish accidents will happen. I will not let anything happen to you so do not worry.”

“You’re a soldier Hal; you’re used to the anticipation of battle, of war. I’m not. I’m… _afraid_ ,” he whispers. Hal regards him and he wonders how he ever became a vampire.

“They are not worthy of an ounce of your fear. Be on your guard. If you show any signs of weakness then they will make for it. Even if you are quaking in your boots, don’t ever show it to the outside world,” he hisses at him.

* * *

 

They make it back onto the main road. The sky above them is clear and a chill breeze blows. Hal watches and he listens and he grips onto his shield tightly.

“Be on your guard,” Wyndam warns them in a low voice. Hal doesn’t respond, his eyes scan the shadowed periphery. It is black with mystery and he wonders what lurks there. Wyndam is at the front with Maria behind him. Hal turns his head and looks to Louis. He sits quietly at the front of the wagon, the reins in his hands and his eyes are wide and watchful. Hal turns Achilles back to ride alongside him.

“Louis…” he hisses and watches his head snap around in his direction.

“Remain calm. You’ll be safe. I promise you that I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you.” He keeps his voice low but his tone is vehement.  “And do _not_ let Wyndam see you like this. Be brave,” he continues. He goes to the rear of the cavalcade and he sighs quietly and shakily.

Time seems to slow down.

Every muscle is tense and despite the chill of the evening, sweat trickles down between Hal’s shoulder blades. He aches from it and wishes they were at their destination. It can’t be much further now. He can hear Louis’s fearful curses each time the wagon lurches into a rut or a pot hole. Hal’s stomach churns and his hands are slick. A shadow bursts across their path and startles Hal. It doesn’t stop and he assumes that it’s another fox or some similar creature. He exhales loudly and he looks up to the sky.

The moon has risen full and silver. He swallows. He returns his attention to the road and he sees Wyndam slow to a halt. He turns his head and he looks at Hal.

“Our destination is close,” he tells him.

“Then let us hurry,” Hal responds, allowing a modicum of relief to bleed through. Their destination means relative safety. It will not be long now.

A long hollow howl echoes on the air and all four of them stiffen. Hal’s head snaps around to his right as something explodes through the undergrowth and heads straight for him.

* * *

 

Before he knows what is happening, he’s shoved from the saddle. He lands heavily onto the ground and his breath leaves his lungs in an agonised rush. For a moment he can’t breathe and darkness blurs the edge of his vision. Above him Achilles rears, whinnying and dancing and Hal curls himself into a tight ball as the horse twists around, eager to be free of the chaos that is all of a sudden erupting around him. Hal staggers to his feet, his shield still attached to his forearm. His legs feel weak and barely able to support his weight and for a brief moment his head swims dizzily. He hears a low guttural snarl and it sounds like it is coming from close beside him. He blinks and gives his head a shake to clear it and at the same time he unsheathes his sword. He sees the beast charge at him and instinctively he lifts his shield upwards and he hears the scrape and scratch of long talons against the metal. He staggers back beneath the onslaught as the werewolf snarls and launches another attack, throwing itself at him. Hal raises his shield again and the wolf batters against it.  It causes Hal to stagger backwards once more and lose his balance. He falls heavily and his head hits the ground with an audible thud. He sees the dark silhouette of the thing above him. Its acrid scent catches the back of his throat and makes his eyes water. He sees it lunge towards him and automatically he pushes the shield above himself as it lands on top of him and he heaves with all of his might. The beast is thrown off to the side and Hal rolls in the opposite direction, scrabbling for his dropped weapon and is quickly on his feet again. He ignores the throbbing at the back of his head as he brandishes his sword and he gets his first clear look at a werewolf.

His eyes widen when he sees the beast. It’s as tall as a man, heavily muscled with a thick covering of coarse grey fur. It draws back lips from an elongated snout and he sees long yellowing fangs. Hal swallows. It charges again and Hal slashes at its neck, the blade flashing silver in the moonlight. It slices cleanly across and a great gout of blood spurts out. Hal ducks behind the shield and jumps back as the creature gives a scream and collapses onto the road at his feet. He spins and sees another wolf lunge towards the wagon. Louis kicks out at it, knocking it back into the road. Hal runs towards it and runs his blade through it and watches as it collapses. He places his foot on its back and he yanks the blade free. He then turns to see Wyndam swing a double headed axe at the head of another one and he watches it crumple to the ground. His eyes then widen and he turns again, his eyes searching for Maria and he sees her still on her horse but breathing heavily. A long bladed sword dangles from one hand. The corpse of another werewolf lies at the feet of her horse.

“Is everyone well?” Wyndam is suddenly beside Hal and he looks at him. Hal nods. Sweat makes his shirt cling to his skin and his breath gasps out of his lungs. His body feels as though it is on fire it is aching so ferociously.

“Yes…though I have… no idea… where my horse is…” he answers, bending over at the waist, trying to draw breath into starved lungs.

“He will not be far away,” Wyndam comments as Hal slowly straightens and looks at him.

“You will need to clean both your sword and your shield after we’ve disposed of these bodies.” He indicates the corpses of the four werewolves that are scattered about the road. Hal glances at them and he frowns.

“There were four all together?”

“A pack and I’m sure there will be more. We must get them off the road and hidden. We must do it now.” he tells him and Hal sighs tiredly. He pulls his shield off his forearm and he sees the red blood that is splattered across the surface, it drips off the sword blade too.

“You can use this.” Maria comments and he turns his head and watches as she dismounts and approaches him. In her hand is a rag which she hands to him.

“Do it now before it dries, we’ll start on the body disposal.” Wyndam instructs. Hal just nods and then winces at the pain he feels at the back of his head.

“What’s the matter?” Maria’s voice is sharp. Hal frowns.

“It is nothing…”

“I’m sure it is not. You hit the ground quite hard. Twice.” She moves to stand behind him and slides her fingers into his hair. He winces as she prods the back of his head.

“Must you?” he demands sharply.

“Yes, it would seem that I must. You are bleeding, the cut is quite deep.” She shows him her blood stained fingers as proof.

“It will heal,” he mutters. He looks at her. “You are unharmed yourself?” he tacks on and sees how she rolls her eyes.

“This is not the first werewolf pack that I’ve encountered and Louis helped keep them at bay. He was almost heroic, certainly brave considering I could hear him cursing and bellyaching with every rut in the road we hit,” she retorts. Hal casts a glance at Louis who is slowly walking towards him.

“Let me look after that Hal.” He indicates the shield as well as the sword and Hal hands them off to him.

* * *

 

Hal, Maria and Wyndam haul the carcasses off the road and roll them down a steep ditch. Hal stands beside him on the edge of it and he looks down.

Wyndam looks at him. “They may not be discovered for days, perhaps weeks. We must make haste, our destination is not far. You fought well.”

“I am a soldier,” Hal replies and he turns his head and he looks around.

“Is there a problem?” Wyndam enquires and Hal looks back at him.

“I need to find my errant horse,” he tells him.

“Look no further…” Maria interrupts and as Hal looks at her, she points and he turns again. He sees Achilles returning, reins trailing and Hal bites back a smile.

* * *

 

Hal looks up at the grand looking house. He then turns his head and he looks to Wyndam.

“This is where we are staying?” he enquires and watches as he dismounts.

“It is. Matthew is …one of us,” he answers and Hal turns his head in the opposite direction as the front door opens and a myriad of people spill out of it. His hands tighten briefly on the reins of his horse and he takes a deep breath and then follows Wyndam’s lead.

“My Lord Wyndam…” Matthew, or who Hal assumes is Matthew greets him with a quick bow, his eyes dancing over both Hal and Maria’s faces. He gives Maria’s outfit a perfunctory glance before returning his attention to Wyndam.

“Apologies for the lateness of the hour Matthew…there were…unavoidable delays during our journey. We would have been here before sunset otherwise.”

“It is of no matter sir, you are here now. Come inside…all of you.” He smiles at them and turns and heads back towards the house.

* * *

 

Hal is given a small room at the top of the house. He looks at the plain furniture and the simple bed. He turns his head and he looks at the girl who accompanies him. She carries a tray which contains food and drink. He sees as she places it on a table beside the window. She straightens and looks at him.

“Thank you…”

“Jane sir…” she replies as she looks away. Hal stares at her.  She’s human. He can hear her heart thumping in her chest, the whoosh of blood through veins and he is reminded of the fact that it has been a while since he last fed. The witch in the cellar come to think of it. His stomach growls and unconsciously he draws an arm across it.

“Could I have some hot water brought up?” he requests and she smiles at him.

“Of course,” she all but whispers and Hal watches her leave.

* * *

 

Every muscle in his body aches as he sits on the edge of the bed. He kicks off his boots and slowly peels off his doublet. One sleeve is torn. He checks his body for signs of injury, for any mislaid scratches or gouges but finds nothing except a patchwork of dark bruising that’s beginning to bloom along his left arm and shoulder. It will be gone by morning but right at this moment it aches fiercely. He sighs and stares at the plain whitewashed wall in front of him. The confrontation with the werewolves had been both exhilarating and equally terrifying but he had survived. He turns his head towards the door when he hears the tentative knocking. He gets to his feet and opens it. Jane stands there; carrying a large jug, a square of white linen is looped over one arm.

“Your hot water Mr Yorke,” she tells him.  He stands to one side and lifts an arm to invite her inside. He sees how she looks at him, how her skin flushes pink and he looks down and sees his grubby bare skin on display and he barely bites back a smile.

“Thank you.” he answers and watches as she places it on the table that is situated beside the window. She places the cloth beside it and looks at him. She bobs him a little curtsey that strangely charms him and he watches as she turns to depart. He then starts forward but then halts, clenching his fists instead. He watches the door close quietly behind her and he sighs gustily. He turns towards the table and sees the steam curling from the jug she’s just left there. He approaches it.

There’s another knock on his door and the suddenness of it makes him start. He turns as the door opens and he sees Louis there. He carries a small bowl, a cloth covering it. He steps inside and closes the door behind him. Hal watches him curiously.

“Compliments of the house,” he tells him in a low voice and as he comes closer, Hal catches the scent of it and his stomach growls again. Louis places it on the table beside the jug and he looks at him.

“My Lord Wyndam wants to leave by sunrise, he asks me to tell you not to be late.” There is a brief pause and Louis looks down. “About this evening…”

“It is forgotten. I shall not be late. Good night Louis,” Hal interrupts. Louis blinks and then nods his head.

“I shall let my Lord know then. Good night Hal.” Hal watches him take his leave. Once he hears the click of the door closing, he turns again.

He sees the bowl left for him. Eagerly he reaches for it and uncovers it. He smiles and as he drinks, his eyes slide blissfully closed. It is warm and comforting and deliciously fresh. As he drains the last of it, they open again and his eyes are a shiny inky black. He stares sightlessly ahead for a moment and then he blinks and it is gone.

He lifts the jug and pours the steaming water into the bowl that is already there. He dips the cloth into it and slowly, methodically he begins to wash. He feels the heat of the water on his skin but it doesn’t last for long. His mind begins to empty as he cleans away the events of the day. He would like to bathe properly but even he knows it isn’t possible in an establishment such as this one. Perhaps he’ll have the opportunity to before they set sail. He frowns against that thought, of crossing that narrow strip of sea and arriving back in England. He would rather not but he owes Wyndam. As Maria has reminded him, he owes him everything now.

He tries not to think about them, he tries not to remember but it’s difficult. It seems the closer he gets, the more they intrude on his thoughts. He dips the cloth back into the water and watches the water turn muddy. He lifts it out again and hears the water drip. He doesn’t really feel the heat of the water as he rubs the cloth across his chest, increasing the pressure as if trying to clean from the outside in. He doesn’t feel the scrape of the roughened material against his skin, does not notice how it turns red beneath the onslaught. He’s thinking about England, about London, about Lizzie.

 About _him._

* * *

 

They depart early the following morning with a different wagon. Wyndam had declared that the old one ‘reeked of dead dog’ and Matthew was only too happy to provide a replacement.

Hal has an ache in the pit of his stomach that neither food nor rest can ease. He’s hungry, he is always hungry but this is something different, it is sharper and beyond his control.

“We’ll reach our destination by night fall,” Wyndam tells him. Hal lifts a quizzical eyebrow.

“And which destination will that be?” he enquires.

“A step closer to home Hal and with a favourable wind, we shall be in England presently.”

England. _Home_.

Hal swallows against a suddenly dry throat.

 

 

 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They arrive at their next destination and Hal goes on the hunt...

**Chapter Thirteen.**

It’s raining when they arrive at their promised destination. Hal looks up at the large house that is situated high above the harbour town. He turns his head and amidst the misery and the murk of the inclement weather, he can just about see down towards the harbour itself. He looks back and scowls and dismounts. He is soaked through and miserable because of it.

“Who owns this property?” he asks Maria as they follow Wyndam inside. Once inside they remove hats and cloaks and Hal runs his fingers through damp hair.

“It’s owned by Wyndam, who do you think?” she replies. She unhooks her travelling cloak and hands it off to a nearby servant. She scowls. “I hate the rain,” she mutters, glaring out of the window. Hal turns to look also.

“Why?” he asks curiously.

“Less fun to be had in this weather, although all I want to do is eat and sleep, I’m too tired for fun this evening,” she sighs.

* * *

 

His travelling chest is deposited in his room at the foot of his bed. Hal stands beside the wide bed and he touches the dark red velvet hangings that drape each corner. It’s certainly a more sumptuous room than the one he stayed in the previous evening. He stands at the foot of the bed and looks around. Tapestries grace three of the walls, succeeding in keeping the chill of the late afternoon at bay. There is a fireplace and a fire burns in the hearth and he stares at it for a moment or two, watching how the orange flames dance and tease. He blinks and turns his head and walks towards the window that offers him a view of the harbour town that is stretched out before him. It is still raining and the cloud is low and murky looking. He can imagine that in the distance he’ll be able to see the faint tableau of the harbour and awaiting ships. He frowns and folds his arms. How long before he’s aboard one of them and heading back to England’s shores. He swore never to return, after Lizzie, he has no reason to. Wyndam is sure to have business in London and curiosity will always drag him back to that place. He sighs and unfolds his arms. He can feel exhaustion nag at him and such tiredness makes him more prone to increasingly maudlin thoughts.

_It always begins the same. He is summoned to attend and he has no option but to obey him. He doesn’t want the ale but he is told, no he is **commanded** to drink it. He is told to be sociable, to smile but the cold edge of suspicion prevents this from truly happening. He’s too used to feeling the effects of flying fists, becoming adept at avoiding those as well as flailing angry feet. His last lot of bruises have only now just begun to fade. _

_He quickly realises why he’s being nice to him now, why all of a sudden his senses have deserted him and as he scrambles to his feet, how the rough wooden floor beneath his feet rises and dips alarmingly._

_Barely heard pleas and promises are issued from almost numb lips as hands grip his upper arms and steer him away._

_“I promise to behave…I will be good...please…” But they fall upon deaf ears. It’s always the same, the words never have any effect but every time he pleads with them. He hopes that one day someone will listen but they never do. It always ends the same._

_The clink of coins being exchanged._

_Face down on a thin flea ridden mattress, a hand at the back of his neck…pain…indescribable white hot pain. Whispered curses. Endearments meant to flatter but only serve to humiliate. Fingers digging into unwelcome places. It is always the same. And there is blood, there is always blood._

_A slap on the arse and thanks for services rendered._

_Another hand heavy on his shoulder._

_No more, not this time._

“Hal!” It has the same effect as a bucket of ice water to his senses and in that moment Hal is brutally awake.

He has his hands around the throat of a man he doesn’t recognise and who stares at him with wide eyed fright. Hal blinks and slowly he turns his head towards the sharply spoken voice and sees Louis standing beside him, a hand on one of his wrists. He lets go of his quarry suddenly and watches as he scuttles out.  He lets out a ragged breath and slowly turns.

His bed is across the room, the linen kicked back and untidy. He doesn’t remember leaving it; he doesn’t remember even falling asleep. He looks back at Louis.

“What happened?” Louis asks him and Hal wipes a hand across his face and he pulls it away and sees the sweat that soaks the finger tips.

“I…” he begins and then closes his mouth and he shakes his head. “Who was that?” he asks instead, indicating the person who has just scuttled out of his chamber as if the hounds of hell were on his heels.

“That was Frederick, one of Mr Wyndam’s stewards,” Louis explains. Hal turns and slowly retreats to his bed and sits on the side.

“He did have a message for you but you were…sleeping.” Hal looks at him but doesn’t say anything more.

“He knocked on the door and upon hearing no response, he entered. You were sleeping, a little…restless perhaps but asleep. He tried to wake you and well…you reacted…you dove from your bed with eyes as black as hell and fangs visible and pinned him across the room by his throat. He had no time to retaliate.” Hal looks away and his expression is bleak.

“I don’t remember…”  Fragments of the dream are already melting like snow.  He takes a deep breath.

“You scared the daylights out of him…are you alright?”

“I shall be down presently. Leave me.” His tone is abrupt and Louis doesn’t push the issue or demand further information as he takes his leave.

* * *

 

A while later Hal descends the stairs. He is still out of sorts and slightly on edge as he makes his descent. The house is busy. As he reaches the ground floor he sees the variety of people waiting by the stair case. They lift their faces and regard Hal curiously but he doesn’t acknowledge them or speak. He reaches the bottom of the staircase as a door opens and he sees Wyndam emerge, in conversation with yet another person Hal doesn’t recognise. At the same time the front door opens admitting a rush of rain cooled wind inside. Hal turns towards it and before he can change his mind, he disappears into the night.

The rain has thankfully stopped as he merges into the dusk. The air is blessedly cool after the past few days of summer heat. He looks briefly skywards and there seems to be an absence of any threatening rain clouds. It cheers him slightly. He has to agree with Maria, the night wouldn’t have as much potential if it was still raining, not as he is hungry and in the mood to play.

The growing darkness cloaks him and he merges silently into the shadows. His eyes take in his surroundings as he heads further into the depths of the town. He listens and can hear the faint patter of hearts beating. If he concentrates with special care then he is able to hear whispers of conversation, of laughter and of more. He heads along deserted alleys and ignores the rank odours of humanity and its detritus. That isn’t what is important right now. Ahead of him he sees the welcoming glow of a tavern and softly he smiles. This is what is important.

* * *

 

He finds a quiet corner with his ale. He can see everyone in this cramped room. It’s busy and his eyes scan the variety of faces. No one pays him any attention. He reaches for his cup and lifts it. He takes an experimental sip and tries not to grimace too much at its sour taste. He feels his stomach cramp and as he lowers his cup to the rough-hewn trestle, he runs his tongue along his lower lip to catch any errant drops.

It’s then that he sees her.

He catches sight of her moving between the tables, collecting empty cups and goblets as well as delivering fresh ones. She’s really quite eye catching, clad in a gown of dark blue material, it complements her pale skin and as she draws closer to him, he realises that it matches her eyes. Her uncovered hair is blue black in colour and it makes a pleasing combination. He watches as she clears the trestle that he occupies and he is almost transfixed by her. She’s beautiful and he watches the smile that slowly blossoms across her face as she catches him watching her. His answering smile is equally slow and all knowing. He takes another sip of his ale and prepares to wait.

He leaves some time later but he’s careful not to be the last one to leave. He doesn’t want to be remembered even in a town of this size. He quits the building and dips back into the shadows as he prepares to wait.

He sees her emerge a short while later, a coarse shawl shielding her dress from the elements. He realises that perhaps this is the only half decent gown that she owns and therefore she takes care of it. He tries to imagine Maria in such an outfit and fails. Maria likes the finer things in life and that also includes jewels and fine clothing.

He buries himself further into shadows and watches as she walks past him. She’s so close that if he were to reach out he would be able to touch her. His stomach cramps and anticipation fires through his veins. He’s hungry and he contemplates attacking quickly, before she has a chance to realise what is happening, before she can open her mouth to scream. It would not be the first time. But no. He turns his head slightly as she walks by and he watches her. His head dips slightly to the side as he catches the faint scent of crushed roses. He’s in the mood to play, to charm. He wonders whether she’ll be receptive to such a mood.

“I know you are there,” her voice is quiet in the stillness and Hal freezes momentarily. He watches as she pauses and then turns in his direction. She is looking in his direction. He remains still, barely daring to breathe.

“You can come out of hiding. I won’t bite.” There’s a hint of amusement in her voice and despite it, Hal smiles to himself. He steps out into the dim light.

“You won’t bite? Well that’s certainly reassuring,” he tells her as he slowly walks towards her. She watches him, a slight smile curving her full mouth.

“I noticed you in the tavern this evening and I had a feeling that you would not be far away,” she tells him. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Confident too,” he responds and he watches her smile briefly widen in reply.

“Maybe but I sensed your curiosity in there. Escort me back to my lodgings? It isn’t far.”

 Hal regards her. “I’m a stranger to you…you don’t know me at all.”

“Are you a gentleman? Perhaps not an _actual_ gentleman but you seem like a gentle…man.”

Hal barely refrains from rolling his eyes. “Mistress…”

“Isabel…”

“I beg your pardon?”

Once more she smiles. “My name _sir_ is Isabel. And you are?” His eyes scan her face.

“Henry,” he answers.

“Please to make your acquaintance Henry…now we are no longer strangers.” She holds out a hand and after a second he takes it. Her skin is pleasantly warm and as he touches her wrist he can feel the steady pump of blood just beneath. He draws her up against him and she comes quite willingly.  She shows no fear. He looks into her eyes and sees the flare of interest there instead.

* * *

 

He pushes her up against the wall and a soft growl rumbles in his chest as he feels her hands conduct their bold explorations. She gave off an aura of sweetness earlier but she’s a tavern wench with the morals to match it would seem. He isn’t shocked, had guessed she would be as such and a ragged sigh escapes from him as those still bold hands of hers find what they are looking for and he pulls up her skirts, his own hands and fingers engaging in their own quest. Her mouth is hot against the side of his neck and she gives a little gasp as he pushes her legs wider apart and pushes his way inside of her. She’s hot and already very wet and it is what he needs, what he has been craving. Her arms slide around his neck as he lifts her slightly and he feels her fingers dig into his shoulders, her little sighs of pleasure echoing in his ear. She is no shy virgin.

They’re hidden at the back of the tavern, hidden in the shadowed recesses. It reeks of stale ale and piss but neither of them takes any notice. Neither of them cares.

He feels that darker side of him lurking. He’s just on the edges and Hal smiles to himself as he embraces him. He looks at her, the girl, whose name he has already forgotten. Her eyes are closed, her mouth slack. With one shaking hand he touches the side of her face and feels the soft skin beneath rough fingertips. Her eyes slide open and she regards him with mild curiosity before he turns her head to the side. He exposes the length of pale creamy skin, envisioning the blood that flows beneath it.

He times it just right.

His eyes blacken and his fangs erupt and her initial scream subsides in a messy wet gurgle as he rips them into the soft skin at the side of her neck. Her hot blood rushes and spurts down his throat as her body convulses around his own. The strength of her release makes him gasp but it does not make him stop. He’s beyond stopping.

He’s panting hard as he releases his hold on her and she slides bonelessly to the ground at his feet. He straightens his clothing and then wipes at his mouth, pulling his fingers away to see her blood staining them. He watches how she rolls slowly forwards into a puddle, the mud and the water oozes into the fabric of her gown as her blood pools outwards. He watches her become pale in death before he emerges from his hiding place. He looks around.

He feels somewhat calmer now; the thrill that fresh blood brings rolling through his veins, suffusing him somewhat. He looks up to the sky as he feels fresh drops of rain begin to fall. He closes his eyes as it quickly becomes a downpour and is accompanied by a low heavy roll of thunder. He looks back to the girl and then to his surroundings. He steps back, startled as lightning illuminates everything around him to a vivid brightness. The streets are narrow, close together and dense. He waits and he listens and he looks but nothing seems to move, his surroundings are silent.

Hal Yorke disappears back into the shadows.

* * *

 

The sudden white hot flash of lightning makes Maria start in her chair. Wyndam glances up from his documents and in her direction. She’s reading by candle light but he hasn’t failed to notice the nervous looks she sends towards the window. It would seem she has a weak spot and it surprises him slightly that it’s the storm erupting outside. For now the only sounds to be heard are the sounds of the tempest erupting outside of said window.

“Has Hal returned yet?” he enquires, returning his attention to the parchment open on the desk in front of him. He jams the quill into the inkpot by his arm and scrawls a response to the missive before he pushes it to one side and retrieves another.

“He has gone out tonight? In this?” Maria breathes and Wyndam looks back at her.

“Yes, several hours since. I sent Frederick to him earlier, with a message that I wished to speak with him and both he and Louis reported he’d been sleeping and that he was…restless.” He pauses as Maria looks at him.

“Another of his dreams…and so soon in the evening,” she murmurs.

“Fortunately Louis managed to rouse him before any real harm was done but he gave Frederick quite the shock.”

“I can imagine…”Maria sighs, closing her ignored book.

“We’re closer to England now and we know he doesn’t want to return there and he still will not tell us why,” she continues.

“I’m becoming more convinced that it has to do with his human life.” Wyndam picks up another sheet of parchment on his desk. “I had Robert do some investigation…very preliminary work you understand…”

“And what has he found out?”

“Hal’s name is indeed Henry Yorke and also that he was born at an establishment by the name of The Yorke Inn, in London at around the end of the last century. His parentage is unknown…”

“The Yorke Inn…it sounds very grand…” Maria watches as Wyndam shakes his head.

“It gives off an illusion of grandeur but if I mention Southwark and the fact that his parentage is unknown…” His words fade away.

“He’s a bastard…his mother was a whore perhaps?” Her expression turns thoughtful. “And that the Yorke Inn is in fact a brothel.”

“According to Robert, the proprietor is a fellow by the name of Edmund Yorke who aspires to noble origins if you follow my meaning…” He watches as Maria rolls her eyes.

“He fought at Bosworth, made a small fortune and headed to London…his business at the tavern is said to be…prosperous…”

“Where there are whores there is always gold I suppose,” Maria mutters and Wyndam sends her a chiding look. She widens her eyes with mock innocence and then shrugs narrow shoulders. Wyndam’s eyes gleam with the faint traces of a smile.

“What are you going to do next?” she asks. Wyndam sighs.

“Investigate this Yorke Inn and see it for myself. If I can see it for myself, I may get an idea of why Hal is so repulsed by the idea of returning to England. And if I can do that…”

“You may succeed in vanquishing any ghosts that hold young Hal back, from his soul,” Maria continues. Wyndam nods.

“We may hope.” A faint tap on the door interrupts their conversation and after a moment the door opens and they both watch Frederick enter. He bears a large silver oval shaped platter that holds a decanter and two goblets.

“I thought that you and the mistress would welcome some refreshments sir…” Frederick pauses by the desk and places it onto an uncluttered corner. Maria watches him, hears how hoarse his voice is and as he turns, she sees the dark purple bruises that circle his neck. He bows his head to her and then leaves. Maria turns to Wyndam.

“Hal did that?” she breathes and wonders why she’s so surprised.

“Hal did that,” Wyndam confirms.

* * *

 

The sky is a faint greyish pink as Hal makes his way through the streets and back to Wyndam’s residence. The rain has stopped and the air is pleasantly cool against his skin. Fatigue tugs at him and he think of his room and the possibility of some deep uninterrupted sleep. He wonders whether it will be possible or will Wyndam decree that today is the day that they should depart for the shores of his home country. He frowns. He wonders whether he’s noticed his absence, whether he is angry that he didn’t keep their appointment. He will have noticed and as for the rest of it? He cares not what he thinks.

He pushes the door open and pops his head around. He listens and hears nothing. He slides inside and closes the door behind him. He pauses and once more he listens. Upon hearing nothing, he turns and heads for the staircase.

“Hal.” He freezes and turns towards Wyndam’s voice. He stands in the doorway of the room he saw him in the evening before but this time he is alone. Slowly Hal straightens and waits for the castigation that is surely to follow. Instead Wyndam regards him.

“You are well Hal?” he asks. Hal stares back at him, more than a little bit surprised.

“I… am,” he confirms. Wyndam just nods.

“You need sleep young man. Be ready at noon, I must speak with you then.” He turns and Hal frowns.

“Is that all?” he blurts out and Wyndam turns back around.

“Were you expecting something else? Go get some rest…we shall discuss our business later.” Hal watches as he turns and heads back into his room, closing the door behind him.

 


	14. Chapter Fourteen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyndam puts his plan for Hal into action.

**Chapter Fourteen:**

_“Get up! Hal for God’s sake you must get up. If you don’t then you’ll never leave here!”_

Hal’s eyes spring open as her voice echoes through his head and for a brief chilling moment he thinks he’s back there again. He waits and he listens but it’s quiet. He slowly rolls onto his back as a knock sounds on his door. He bids his visitor enter as he begins to sit up. His head still feels a little bit cloudy, he’d slept soundly upon his return and the fact that he has woken in his bed and not on the floor or with his hands around an unsuspecting soul’s throat bodes well too. He turns his head as his door squeaks open and he frowns when he sees Maria enter.

“Ah…you’re awake…” She flashes a smile at him.

“And in my room,” he reminds her and she rolls her eyes.

“I can’t imagine why you’re so offended about that, there’s nothing of you that I haven’t already seen before.”

Hal sighs roughly. “At my invitation previously which this is not. What do you want?”

She glares at him with narrowed eyes. “I had forgotten how…contrary you can be first thing in the morning or in this case, almost noon,” she snips back and his eyes widen.

“I am supposed to meeting with Wyndam at noon, am I late?” He shuffles to the side of his bed and his eyes seek out his clothing which is draped across a chair across from him. Maria turns, sees them and goes to them. She picks them up and brings them to him, dropping them down beside him on the mattress.

“He’s been busy this morning so I do not think he will mind if you are a little bit late but no…not late yet.”

“But I will be. Maria, please state your business or be on your way.” He stands up but is careful to keep the sheet around his waist. The look he flicks her way is heavy with irritation.

“I saw Frederick last night…” she begins delicately and Hal’s answering frown is distracted as he struggles into his clothing.

“Who?”

“Wyndam’s steward…the chap you attempted to strangle yesterday,” she clarifies and she watches as he slowly straightens.

“What of him?” he asks.

“You were in the midst of another dream Hal,” she reminds him. He looks away and instead goes to his travelling chest where he extracts a clean white chemise which he shrugs on.

“I already told Louis that I don’t remember,” he begins.

“You may be able to pull the wool over his eyes and you may be able to keep Wyndam at arm’s length with your stories but I’ve known you a little bit longer, allow me to have just a little bit more intelligence,” she interrupts and he looks at her, goes absolutely still.

“Your point being?” he asks, his voice becoming like ice. Maria sighs and drops onto the mattress; she arranges the skirts of her gown around her legs.

“My point _being_ …these nightmares that you suffer from are violent and they seem to be becoming more frequent the closer we get to England’s shores.” She watches him.  “They’re connected to your human life aren’t they?” Her voice becomes gentle. Hal stares at her and for a moment he’s unable to think or even breathe.

“I’ve already told you, I do not remember.”

“I think you do and for whatever reason, fear or shame, you do not want to share them with us.” Her expression becomes steadfast. “You think we will judge you, blame you perhaps…”

“ _Blame_ me?” he retorts, his tone turning sharp.

Maria gets to her feet. “Never mind, perhaps I have overstepped my boundaries. If either myself or Edgar can help you with whatever troubles you, come talk to us.” She goes to leave the room but Hal darts into her way and wraps his hands around her upper arms.

“What do you know?” he hisses at her. She sees how his eyes darken.

“Nothing Hal…I know nothing now please, unhand me, you are being most ungentlemanly.”

Hal stares at her for a moment longer. Maria sighs.

“Hal…I shall not ask you again. Let go of me,” she enunciates and eventually he does just that. She moves around him and leaves.

* * *

 

Hal is aware that he is late for their appointment as he taps on the heavy wooden door and waits for admittance. He straightens the sleeves of his doublet and he wonders what Wyndam could want with him. He hears footsteps on the other side of the door and unconsciously straightens as eventually the door opens. Wyndam stands on the other side.

“Hal…please come in.” There is no mention of his lateness and Hal blinks but he enters anyway. It’s then that he sees the second man seated in a chair across from Wyndam’s laden desk.

He experiences a strange feeling of déjà vu. The man slowly gets to his feet. He’s tall; spare looking with fair hair, bright blue eyes and a neatly trimmed beard. He regards Hal with a keenness that sends warning prickles down his spine.

“Take a seat,” Wyndam invites and indicates the second empty chair. Hal approaches it and sits down. He keeps the visitor in the corner of his eye as he turns his attention to his patron.

“Well…you’re probably wondering why I’ve requested this meeting with you considering we’ve spent the last few days travelling together.”

“The thought has crossed my mind,” Hal answers cautiously. Wyndam regards him and a very slight smile tilts the corners of his mouth.

“First of all, weather conditions at this moment in time do not favour a trip across the sea to England for perhaps the next couple of days or so which may or may not please you in itself Hal but as you can imagine it is of great inconvenience to me. The longer I am away from my home then the greater the business that needs my attention becomes.” He indicates the books and parchments that already cover the surface of his desk. “As if my work isn’t busy enough.” He glances at their visitor with that same tight smile before he turns his attention back to Hal.

“So…rather than wait until we arrived in England to begin your…book learning and education I thought, why not now… Why not begin today…so Hal I would like you to meet Bartholomew West. He shall be your tutor.” He indicates their visitor. Hal turns his head and regards him. Bartholomew’s skin is white pale and it makes his eyes stand out more in depth of colour.

“Mr Yorke…pleased to make your acquaintance,” the man replies and Hal just nods.

“Mr West is the best at what he does and you will benefit from his expertise. I’ve set aside the room next door where over time, your writing and reading skills especially will be vastly improved.”

“With respect sir, I am not a child,” Hal answers, once he’s torn his eyes from Bartholomew’s face.

“I know that but to get ahead in this world Hal means that you must improve in every way. I know you’ve had some basic schooling here and there but imagine being able to pick up a book, any book and being able to read the text within with ease and complete understanding. Letter writing is in itself an art form…wouldn’t you like to learn how to do that?” Wyndam sits forward and he regards Hal sharply. “You will thank me for it one day.”

* * *

 

The room adjoins Wyndam’s office and is of medium size. One wall is lined with a variety of books; Hal doesn’t think that he’s seen so many before. He approaches them, deliberately ignoring the desk that has been set up across from it. He pauses and examines the tomes, his hands behind his back.

Bartholomew watches him. To all outward purposes the younger vampire exudes an aura of calmness but he isn’t fooled. Hal’s spine is stiff and his shoulders are squared and he ignored the desk set up for him quite purposely. He waits a moment.

“He’s right you know.” Bartholomew’s voice is quiet but Hal hears him clearly.

“Who is…and about what?” His answering tone is deliberately dismissive.

“Mr Wyndam and your education,” Bartholomew answers and nothing more is forthcoming.

Eventually, Hal slowly turns to look at him.  “So you say.”

 The tutor smiles.

“I saw how you frowned, the expression on your face at his pronouncement. You think that you’re too old for _this_ , that you’ve missed your opportunity and that you just want to exist in your new world, to create fear and mayhem and shed blood, oceans upon oceans of blood.”

 Hal doesn’t answer as he watches him slowly approach him.

“You must have more than just a shred of intelligence Hal; otherwise Mr Wyndam wouldn’t have summoned me here in the first place. Perhaps you could be difficult and waste my time but something tells me you won’t do that. Why don’t we take a seat and we can talk about what you already know and maybe we can improve on what needs to be improved upon?” he suggests, indicating the desk and chair with the sweep of one hand.  Hal regards it and then looks to him once again. He then lowers himself down behind the desk with a feeling of trepidation. His eyes take everything in.

“Hal, do not worry, you will not be judged, least of all by me,” Bartholomew reassures him calmly and Hal looks up at him across the desk. “I remember being in your shoes, though in my case I had no shoes to wear. My Lord Wyndam was the one who gave me the same opportunity. I could not read or write at all but in time and with a lot of patience he helped me, taught me and enabled me to go further and teach others in the same situation.” He smiles very slightly and it succeeds in warming his startlingly blue eyes.

“How long ago was that?” Hal enquires.

“A long time ago, perhaps two centuries, I don’t really remember. When you’re a vampire you tend to realise that the days blend into one another and that time doesn’t really hold the same appeal as it used to any more. One day perhaps you’ll understand for yourself.”

“I don’t appreciate being patronised,” Hal responds icily and Bartholomew regards him calmly.

“My Lord did say you were a prickly fellow to get to know…I meant no insult Hal…may I call you Hal?” He waits. The younger vampire doesn’t respond.

“My Lord also tells me that you are able to read and write passably…but that it needs improvement…Are you willing to tell me how this came about?” Hal looks at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Did you go to school at all in England?” Bartholomew asks. Hal stares at him. After a moment he shakes his head.

“Then how?”

Hal drops his gaze and stares at a spot on the desk. “Lizzie taught me,” he whispers.

“And who is Lizzie?” Hal glances back up at him and he looks…startled.

“She was…someone…important. I would rather not talk about her if you don’t mind.” His voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes wide as if horrified at giving away a slice of his former life to someone he does not know.

He can hear her voice in his head as if he had just heard it yesterday, can feel her arm around him, holding him close against her as she traces the letters in the sandy dirt.

_“This is your name Hal…H…A….L, see how they go together?  Your proper name is Henry but I think Hal suits you more.”_ _He turns his head and he smiles into her eyes.  Those eyes are as blue as the summer sky. He is six years old. Lizzie smiles at him and squeezes him to her for a brief moment before she straightens up and disappears in a swish of skirts and perfume._

Hal blinks; he looks up at Bartholomew and sees the mild frown upon his face.

“I’m…sorry,” he whispers and he takes a deep breath and he closes his eyes. A moment or two pass before they open again and Bartholomew West sees a different person when those eyes fix upon his face once again.

“If we may begin?”

* * *

 

Wyndam stands in the doorway and watches Bartholomew pack away papers and books for a moment. He’s the only occupant in the room.

“How was our Mr Yorke?” he asks and Bartholomew turns his head and glances at him over his shoulder.

“You were not mistaken; he certainly is a prickly fellow isn’t he?”

Wyndam walks further into the room.

“I did warn you. How did it go?”

“Well I think. He does indeed write and read passably but not well enough to get by, I think a lot of it is down to guesswork, especially the reading.” He pauses and looks to Wyndam again. “And especially since he confessed to having no formal schooling at all prior to his recruitment. He says he was taught by someone by the name of Lizzie. He would not say more after that, rather he deliberately changed the subject.” He frowns. “But she was important to him.”

“Was?”

Bartholomew nods.

“Yes, _was_ …I’m under the impression that the mysterious Lizzie is dead.”

* * *

 

Hal scrubs ink from his fingers and he frowns as he does it. He hadn’t meant to mention Lizzie. She’s kept firmly locked away and he does not talk about her to anyone, not to Maria and certainly not to Wyndam. She’s not up for public discussion and he wonders whether Bartholomew West will report his discovery to him. He frowns even harder as the knot in his throat grows and tightens. His new tutor didn’t push the matter further and respected his request not to talk about her but he isn’t stupid, he’ll be curious and so will Edgar Wyndam. Edgar Wyndam and his extensive network of informants. He stops scrubbing and stares out of the window. The low cloud from yesterday still hangs over the town like a shroud. Lizzie is dead and the name is common enough. He huffs out a loud sigh and moves away from the bowl of water, drying his hands on the linen square beside it. As he turns he sees his travelling chest at the bottom of his bed and he goes to it and opens it.

He sorts through its contents. It is mostly clothing but at the bottom and carefully hidden is what he’s looking for. He carefully lifts the square of rough dark cloth from its hiding place. He gets to his feet and sits on the side of his bed. He places it on his lap and he looks down at it for a moment or two before he picks it up again and unfastens the crude bindings that hold it together. Once that is done then he unwraps it and he looks down at what it reveals.

_He observes her as she crouches down by his feet and reaches beneath the bed. She hauls out a rough looking wooden box and opens it. He watches as she sorts through the meagre belongings, searching for something and eventually she finds what it is she is looking for. She straightens up and looks at him._

_“You need to take this, for protection.” She pushes it into his hands and as he looks down at it, his eyes widen. “For protection Hal, do not be afraid to use it if you have to.”  She looks down at the knife that she’s just given to him. “The blade is sharp but I doubt it will do any true harm, depending on where you stick it of course. Just the sight of it will scare away any troublemakers.”  She carefully places a hand over his, over the weapon._

_“It belongs to you now,” she tells him._

Hal stares at the knife. He has no idea where Lizzie had got the weapon from and he hadn’t asked at the time. The handle is white bone, the blade long and silver. He hasn’t used it in a very long time; it has spent its existence in his travelling chest, ignored up until now. He picks it up and holds it in his hand and he remembers the last time that he used it.

_He stands in the doorway of the small room and ignores the traitorous surge of fear. His entire body is telling him to turn away and run, to get out of there as fast as possible. He sees him standing beside the poor excuse of a bed, just a mattress really. He watches as he turns and looks at him, smiles at him. Hal takes a slow, deliberate step into the room._

_Edmund had told him that his visitor was here, that he mustn’t tarry. He still remembers feeling his hand clamp tightly around his upper arm, that hard deliberate squeeze. He expected him to show some kind of emotion, fear perhaps or even pain. He had just looked at him, looked straight through him and then kept on walking._

_Up the stairs to this room._

_He thinks of all of the years he has spent here, of being beaten and abused. He thinks of all the names that have been shrieked at him. He stays still as he watches the man slowly walk towards him and it occurs to him that he doesn’t even know his name, his generous benefactor, his special guest. He makes himself stand still, to not back away._

_The man touches him, a single grimy finger that traces along his cheekbone, still painful from that last beating he suffered and it takes all of his strength not to cringe back away as that finger slides down to his chin and to his bottom lip. The man draws him close in a parody of a lover’s embrace._

_He looks at the man, into his rheumy aged eyes. He can smell the acrid unwashed scent of him. His fingers curl around the knife’s hilt and he tests the weight of it hidden behind his back, hidden down the back of his breeches._

_It’s time for him to assume control, it has to begin now._

_The man’s hand slides down the side of Hal’s neck, down to his shoulder. Hal sees the desire in his expression, the want. It will not last for long, this wooing. Any moment now it will be replaced by something more savage, more brutal. His heart thunders in his chest, his breathing becomes more rapid. Fear threatens to engulf him._

_The man begins to murmur in his thin whispery voice…._

“I haven’t seen that before.”

 Hal starts violently and the knife clatters to the ground. He gets to his feet but Maria is there in an instant and she’s picking it up off the floor and she holds it, testing its weight in the palm of one hand. She looks up at him. Her smile quickly fades.

“Hal… You are as pale as a ghost.”

“That’s mine. I want it back,” he tells her and without waiting, he all but snatches it out of her hand. He retrieves the cloth and hurriedly re-wraps the weapon back into it. He goes to his chest and then pauses. He raises his eyes and he looks at her.

“The door was closed Maria,” he reminds her.

“I thought you may be sleeping again…I haven’t seen you all day.” She shrugs and watches as he opens his travelling chest and replaces the weapon inside of it. He closes it and secures it. He straightens up and once more he looks at her.

“As you saw, I wasn’t. What do you want?” he demands. She frowns.

“There is no need to be so testy with me young man. Wyndam has a social…thing this evening, some fusty Old One meeting that will be indeterminable and dull and I’m bored.”

“And?”

“I would like to go out this evening. I would also like for you to accompany me,” she replies.

“And what would we do?” he enquires, his equilibrium quickly returning. Maria smiles at him.

“I’m in the mood for mischief Hal. Aren’t you?”

 

 

 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mischief indeed....

**Chapter Fifteen:**

“Mischief?”

Hal watches Maria smile and it’s a familiar, knowing smile.

“Yes, _mischief_ and for that I need a suitable companion which is why I am here. Please don’t say no. You will regret it if you do.”

Hal gives pause and her smile widens.

“Then how could I possibly refuse? By the look in your eye it would seem that you have a destination in mind.” Hal watches her and he sees the gleam in her green eyes.

“You may be right. I require you to be ready to depart in about an hour’s time. Can you be ready?” Hal nods, watching as she smiles, her eyes skimming the length of his body.

“Excellent. One hour Hal and wear something…splendid.”

He watches her all but skip out of his room and he frowns.

“Splendid?” he mutters to himself.

* * *

 

He waits for her in the salon and turns when he hears the door open and he sees Wyndam enter. He looks austere and unforgiving in black and Hal idly wonders whether he possesses clothing in another colour as black is all that he seems to wear. He’s like a crow in an exotic aviary.

“You are escorting Maria this evening I gather?” Wyndam asks. He takes in Hal’s attire. He wears a doublet of slate grey with finer silvery accessories. He looks impressive.

Hal inclines his head. “I was instructed to be ready within the hour. Yet I am here and she is not,” he replies and the faintest of smiles crosses Wyndam’s face.

“Oh she will appear when she is good and ready and not a moment before,” he advises him. Both of them lift their heads when they hear movement.

“Do you know where we are going?”  Hal enquires and Wyndam sighs and shakes his head.

“It could be anywhere. Be thankful you are not visiting where I am expected to attend,” he warns in a low, suddenly tired voice and he frowns as he pulls on a pair of black leather gloves. At the same time there is a quiet tap on the door. Wyndam turns and sees Frederick appear. He pauses just on the inside and the look he sends Hal is quick and slightly nervous.

“Your carriage awaits you sir,” he tells him in a quiet voice. Wyndam nods in acknowledgement.

“You could always cancel your meeting and join us?” Hal suggests and Wyndam’s eyes hold onto the younger vampire’s face for a moment or two and Hal gets the impression that he seems to be contemplating the invitation.

“A tempting offer Mr Yorke but regrettably I must decline. The tiresome nature of vampire politics being what they are, I must attend,” he sighs instead.

“You are Mr Snow’s right hand man sir; surely they must attend to you?” Hal answers and once more a faint smile warms the usually austere face of Edgar Wyndam.

“Not in this case Hal. Sometimes I must act in a diplomatic role; I listen to grievances, I smooth out any wrinkles before they have the potential to become damaging. I also pay court to others of a similar age to Mr Snow, it keeps the channels of communication smooth and less…complicated. It may be tiresome but it is also necessary,” he tells him. His head then turns as the door opens wider and both of them watch as Maria makes her entrance.

She wears a gown of deep blood red and fairly steals the breath from both vampires’ lungs.

“Hal…you are on time, wonderful!” she exclaims and then her eyes fall upon Wyndam. She glides over to him and she stands in front of him. She makes a show of adjusting the already perfect shoulders of his doublet, brushing the material before taking a half step backwards, eyeing him with approval “and Edgar, dashing as always. Be sure to send my regards to Xavier and please tell him that I’m truly sorry we were not able to meet this time.”  Her eyes sparkle and a smile dimples her cheeks.

Wyndam smiles softly in response “Liar…but I shall pass on your greetings all the same,” He then turns his attention back to Hal. “Enjoy your evening’s entertainment,” he wishes.

They both watch him take his leave.

* * *

 

It is a chilly evening; a fine mist curls through the town, wrapping alleys, streets, buildings and pedestrians within its protective veil. Hal pauses on the street and waits for Maria to join him. She wears a warm dark cloak over her dress, its magnificence hidden from immediate view. Hal had glimpsed rubies winking at her throat earlier when she’d made her entrance. They’d glowed darkly against her pale skin like…well like blood he supposes. He looks at her. The hood of the cloak is up and partially veils her face. She looks at him and she smiles slowly and he sees the glitter of devilment in her eyes.

“Are you going to share what you have in mind for this evening?”

The smile grows wider. “Of course young Hal but all in good time. We must make haste.” she slides a gloved hand through the crook of his elbow and they begin to walk, fading into the night.

* * *

 

Wyndam sighs quietly. Why had he agreed to attend this evening? He has matters that need his attention, Hal’s continuing education to discuss and plan with Bartholomew and instead here he is listening to the voices droning indeterminably around him. He agreed to attend because he was required to. It would be seen as an insult otherwise and Snow does not like dissent within the order. So while his wish is to remain cloistered, his directive is to see and be seen.

He has been greeted by Xavier and his cohorts with the greatest of respect. He turns his head slightly and regards his host. Xavier is two hundred years his senior but as yet he hasn’t been afforded the Old One status. It isn’t a status automatically conferred due to age. If that was the case then there would be many more of them in existence. It is Snow’s version of a reward system, similar to a king dispensing titles to his subjects. Xavier is useful but Snow hasn’t conferred anything upon him and more likely will not. He’s just an overblown civil servant, an extra pair of eyes to report back to the hierarchy and as a result he lives comfortably and has control over most of the vampire activity in this town but Wyndam knows how Snow’s mind can change like the weather and everything could change by the next sunset. Xavier does not possess the sharp cold intellect or the killer instinct that would or could afford him the revered status of Old One.

It’s a great honour nevertheless for him to host an Old One in his abode but unfortunately Wyndam does not feel honoured. Instead Edgar Wyndam feels rather bored. His gaze drops to the blood in the goblet set carefully before him by one of Xavier’s stewards. With the tip of one long finger he pushes it slowly and carefully away and as he does so he lifts his gaze to the vampires present. For once none of them are watching his every move. He quietly sighs and leans back in his seat and he lets his attention wander. The blood is fatty and dull; it does not spark his attention or cause him to request more. He sees their pale faces and he knows that each one present this evening is wondering if he will be the one that he will notice, report back favourably to Snow and hope for promotion. He wonders whether any of them have heard of Hal Yorke. He wonders whether he should mention him. He himself may not have heard of the fellow prior to his introduction but it doesn’t mean that nobody else has not.

Wyndam lifts his head slightly as the doors open and he watches a line of serving girls enter the room, each carrying trays holding more decanters and fresh goblets. He watches them as they approach each trestle and Wyndam regards them curiously. He wonders whether they know what they are serving. He glances briefly at Xavier. They are probably being paid very well not to know or to care. He sees one of them approach the head table and she comes to him first. She’s a pretty thing, with hair as red as an autumn leaf. She keeps her eyes respectfully low as she places the goblet in front of him and pours some of the viscous red liquid inside. Wyndam continues to watch her and she’s well aware of his attention judging by the pink flags of colour staining her cheeks. She does not look at him, she has been instructed not to. At the last moment she lifts her head slightly and their eyes meet. There is a flash of boldness there which is swiftly extinguished but in that moment his interest is piqued. He wonders who she is and more to the point, how she will taste.

“It is a great honour to have you back to our town my Lord Wyndam,” Xavier’s tone is suitably obsequious and just like that Wyndam snaps back to attention. He turns to him, seated to his right. He offers the faintest of smiles.

“Thank you but it is for a short visit Xavier, just passing through and waiting for a favourable wind to allow a swift return to England,” he answers but out of the corner of his eye he watches the serving girl.

“Rumour has it you were summoned to attend Mr Snow…” Wyndam watches him for a moment, seeing the naked speculation in his pale green eyes. He allows a moment to pass.

“I was. I’m sure you’ve _also_ heard the rumour that I was to collect a new protégé. You may have heard of him perhaps. Apparently he has quite the reputation. His name is Hal Yorke.” He sees how Xavier frowns.

“The name is not familiar I must admit,” he replies.

“Really? He was a recruit of Alexei’s. He killed him and that was what caught the attention of Snow.” This does get a reaction and Wyndam watches his eyes go round with shock.

“Killed him? Why?” Wyndam offers an elegant shrug.

“He will not say. He would not even mention it to William when he asked him and William and Alexei were friends,” he informs him and he sees the pensive expression that crosses his face. Something prickles along the length of Wyndam’s spine and he slowly straightens in his seat.

“This may be an unusual question my Lord so I pray you forgive me for asking it but is your Mr Yorke is young? Handsome?” he enquires and Wyndam frowns.

“I suppose he has a somewhat…agreeable countenance…why?” He sees how Xavier casts a furtive look around before he leans closer to him.

“There have been _rumours_ abound for many, many years regarding Alexei and his…predilections. I am surprised you haven’t heard them yourself,” he whispers. Wyndam regards him, feeling the cold churn of suspicion that has begun to blossom in his stomach.

“Rumours?”

“Nothing has ever been proven my Lord, no one was willing to speak of it in public such was his reputation but it was suggested that his… _interests_ lay…not with the fairer sex if you understand my meaning…more so if they were…pretty and he was not particularly apologetic about it.”

Wyndam frowns as he understands. He opens his mouth to reply but things are beginning to slot into place and tick over in his brain and he closes it instead.

“Alexei would not care to share secrets of such inclinations with me. Though truth be told it does not surprise me and perhaps you think William shared these inclinations?” He watches how Xavier shrugs slowly, diplomatically but Wyndam sees his answer in his eyes. He leans back in his seat. These are not new rumours, he has heard the nebulous of whispers, had them vaguely hinted at but not embellished and he hadn’t investigated them further, believing them to be just stories, but given what he has so far gleaned about Hal’s beginnings and remembering how…abrupt William had been to him upon their meeting, it is all beginning to come together and make sense. Alexei thought that he could control his understudy in this manner and discovered to his detriment that he could not.

Now he has a very good idea of why Hal ended his maker. He turns his head and his eyes slide across the myriad of faces present.

“The serving girl my Lord…” Xavier’s voice floats to his attention once more. Wyndam looks back at him. “She’s yours my Lord…whenever you wish to take possession of her.” Wyndam looks away once more. He doubts that he will need his assistance in the matter…

* * *

 

Hal pauses and takes in the events in the large ballroom. He turns his head and he looks at Maria and a frown wrinkles his brow.

“You brought me along to _this_?” he enquires and slowly he looks back at the occupants moving around on the floor space. His eyes widen marginally “I don’t dance,” he informs her.

She looks at him and she smiles. “Can’t or won’t?” she teases. His head snaps around once more but he doesn’t smile back in understanding.

“Choose one,” he bites back and he returns his attention to the dance floor. He watches them go through the routines in time to the music being played by the group of musicians in the far corner of the room. It all looks measured and elegant and…difficult. He swallows.

“I could teach you if you would like me to. The steps aren’t particularly difficult to grasp and you never know, you may actually like it.” Maria’s voice is low in his ear and he looks at her once more. The frown on his face tells her that he probably will not.

They move deeper into the ballroom and all of a sudden Hal’s head is filled with the sound of throbbing heartbeats and the rhythmic whooshing of blood being forced through veins. There are so many people present; he’s used to the silence of vampire companionship but _this_ …. he takes a slow deep breath as his eyes scan the faces. There are so many of them. He glances at Maria and she tightens her grip on his arm.

“Control yourself Hal. I know you can do it,” she murmurs.

“How can you? All of this on offer, it’s almost too much…” he confesses in an equally low voice.

“Because I am much older than you are. Control is learned over a long period of time if you want to succeed at it. You are still relatively young and inexperienced. One day you will be able to control yourself without thinking. You are already more accomplished at it than most of your age.” Her own eyes dart about with an experience borne of centuries of practice.

“How old are you?” he asks and she turns her head and regards him.

“Why do you want to know?”

“I’m curious,” he answers and she laughs and shakes her head.

“You are impertinent sir…” She returns her attention to the dancers.

“Are you as old as My Lord Wyndam?”

“And how old do you think he is you insolent young pup?” Her tone is one of amusement and she looks at him one more time to see a lazy smile on his face. She regards him for a long moment. “You already know his age. Well then...I….require you to fetch me a drink and not to be slow about it…” she smiles at him once more.

When he returns with two goblets of wine, she is nowhere to be seen.

* * *

 

It doesn’t surprise Hal that Maria is dancing or that she is surrounded by eager, attentive suitors. They’re all dazzled by her pale skin, those deep green eyes and that enchanting smile of hers. She is easily the most beautiful woman present. Hal takes a sip of his wine and does not take his eyes off her. She dances with abandon, her eyes sparkling with enjoyment and from the attention that she is receiving. Hal’s gaze takes in the other dancers and he slowly begins to realise that not everyone is as enchanted with her as originally thought. He sees the look of irritation one of her suitors’ companions sends her. She’s a tall thin girl with dark hair and it would seem that she does not like that her partner is not paying her the requisite amount of attention. Hal sighs quietly. They are not supposed to draw attention to themselves, not in such a public arena. He discards his wine and takes a breath and plunges into the crowds of dancers. Instinct is telling him that trouble is not very far away.

The look the dark haired girl sends Maria is positively venomous as Maria smiles sweetly at her dance partner. Hal makes his way towards them, dodging around the other dancers. He lunges for Maria as all at once the two ladies face each other, all manners and pretence abandoned. He slides his arm around her waist and whisks her away as the tempo of the music picks up and the pair are swallowed up by the other dancers. Maria spins around, her eyes flashing angrily at the interruption. It melts away when she sees that it is Hal.

“I thought you did not dance?”

“I do not but neither do you rip out the throat of your rival in the middle of a busy dance in public view!” he reminds her sharply and sees her eyes narrow.

“You forget who you are talking to you…”

“If you call me an insolent young pup once more I shall be forced to pick you up and carry you out of here,” he warns and he sees temper flare.

“You would not dare to do such a thing!” she hisses, attempting to pull herself out of his arms but he tightens his grip.

“Would I not? Would you like to find out?” He pauses and pulls her flush up against him and he sees the annoyance be replaced by surprise. “Just what were you trying to accomplish there?” he enquires.

“I had everything under control Hal. I liked him; I wanted to see whether he liked me too.”

“Oh he wasn’t the only one who liked you Maria, believe me,” Hal snorts and she smiles.

“And his charming partner is in possession of an item of jewellery that I want, a particularly stunning diamond necklace; the jewels are as big as cherry stones.”

Hal lifts a speculative eyebrow “And you hoped to antagonise her enough so that she’d hand it over to you, just like that?” He watches as she pouts.

“Not…exactly. The moment is now lost, thanks to you.” She steps away from him and turns. He remains where he is as she threads her way across the ballroom floor. He sighs roughly and with a shake of his head follows her.

“Maria…” he sighs as he catches up with her. The moment his hand touches her shoulder then she turns and looks at him. “His companion was looking to cause trouble. She seemed the jealous type,” he explains.

“I may be female Hal but I am quite able to look after myself.”

“And if she had confronted you and made accusations then what would you have done?” he demands.

“I would not have harmed her…not in public,” she answers and frowns as Hal scoffs in disbelief.

“What?” she exclaims and her eyes widen as he takes her hand. “Where are we going?” she pulls her hand free and in the blink of an eye he is right in front of her and all she can think of is how green his eyes look in the light.

“We are leaving, I think you have outstayed your welcome,” he retorts and then in a lower voice he murmurs “Do not turn around but we are being observed.” He watches as her eyes go round. He reaches for her hand again and this time she does not resist as he retrieves her cloak and then drags her out of the building.

“What are you doing?” Maria enquires as they make their departure. She watches as he casts a quick look back over his shoulder before returning his attention to her face.

“It would seem that we have gained ourselves a pair of shadows,” he tells her.

“Who?” She goes to turn her head but his arm slides around her waist and he pulls her close, he lowers his head close to hers.

“Guess,” he whispers and surreptitiously Maria turns her head in the direction of the building. She sees the shadows and her eyes widen.

“Oh,” she breathes and she smiles up at him. She stands on tiptoe and presses a kiss on his mouth. Her smile widens to a grin and she takes his hand. “I have a feeling that this will be fun.”

 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mischief continues...

**Chapter Sixteen.**

They walk for a short period of time before hearing the rumbling of carriage wheels. They pause and watch as it halts beside them and Maria sees her dance companion of earlier look through the side opening.

“Are you going far?” he enquires.

Hal and Maria exchange a look.

“We are not far, thank you for your concern,” Maria replies. The man in the carriage doesn’t move, his eyes are fixed upon her face.

“We insist. The weather is quite awful and most unsuitable to walk anywhere in,” he continues. Maria tilts her head to one side.

“We?” she wonders and it’s then his companion appears beside him and Maria swallows down a smile as she recognises her from the dance.

“Please. I feel we got off on a misunderstanding earlier. Allow us to take you to your home and perhaps we can become better acquainted. My name is Lucille Deveraux and this is my husband Richard.” Once more Hal and Maria exchange a look. The faintest of smiles tilts the corner of Hal’s mouth before he returns his attention to her. He widens that smile and at the same time turns on the charm.

“Henry Yorke…and this is…” He realises that he does not know Maria’s second name.

“His wife, I am Maria. We are pleased to make your acquaintance,” she interrupts and once more she glances at Hal. “And we should be delighted to accept your kind offer.”

* * *

 

They take their seats opposite the couple. All at once the carriage lurches onwards and a moment of silence drops between them.

Hal regards the couple opposite them and he gets a glimpse of the diamond necklace that Maria had earlier expressed an interest in. It glitters in the faint light, the stones are large and impressive and he can understand why his companion covets them. His gaze flicks to the man seated opposite her. He’s tall and very thin, there is not much in the way of flesh on his rather long bones but he can hear a very healthy heartbeat pumping away beneath that ribcage with satisfying regularity.

“You say you do not have far to travel?” Lucille enquires, breaking the silence. Maria shakes her head.

“No, not far, on la rue Marguerite…you know of it?” She knows for a fact that she will have. It is the most exclusive part of the small town, situated at the top with the harbour at the bottom. It belongs to Edgar and has done for as long as she has known him. As the carriage rumbles towards their destination, she sees the spark in the other woman’s eyes.

“We do. It is a very beautiful part of town. You have lived there for long?” Lucille watches as Maria and Hal exchange a look. A smile passes between them before Maria returns her attention to her.

“Not long, it’s my brother’s house. I am his only living relative and as our parents are long since departed, he indulges me I’m afraid so when Henry and I married, he not only paid for a wonderful wedding, he also arranged for us to have a fabulous honeymoon. No expense spared.” She smiles at Hal as she touches the ruby necklace at her throat.

 “You are very fortunate,” Richard intervenes. Hal looks at him but not before he notices how Lucille’s gaze has fixed upon Maria’s necklace.

She’s calculating just exactly how much it is worth.

* * *

 

The carriage rumbles to a stop outside of the stable block behind the grand house. Hal and Maria have managed to persuade their new friends to visit, to share in some wine and to get to know one another a little more. They’ve been only a little too eager to accept.

“Hal…why don’t you escort the carriage driver to the kitchen and I will show our guests to the salon?” Maria suggests once they have alighted from the carriage. Hal gives a little bow of acquiescence and waits for the carriage driver to join him. He regards him as he approaches. He’s not as tall as his master and a little more fat pads his bones. Hal turns his head and catches Maria’s eye and his smile is sly and knowing. He returns his attention to the driver who is regarding the horses and the carriage.

“Our stable lads can take care of those, not to worry,” he assures him. “This way.”

* * *

 

Lucille and Richard follow Maria into the house and without looking at them she knows that they are taking in their surroundings, calculating how much everything is worth, how long it will take them to acquire it all and planning their methods of execution. She smiles to herself. Hal will be taking care of the carriage driver. For him it will be mercifully quick. These two…well it all depends.

“You have a beautiful home,” Lucille breathes and Maria pauses and looks at them. She smiles.

“Thank you, I am sure my brother will be honoured to hear your kind words. Shall we go to the salon?” One of Wyndam’s stewards materialises. He glances at Maria’s companions but wisely remains silent. She smiles at him.

“Wine please, Frederick,” she requests. Frederick nods respectfully and fades away to do her bidding.

Hal enters the salon and Maria notices that his doublet is missing. He’s still wiping the corners of his mouth and he has the satisfied air of one who has fed and fed well. He casts a smile at Lucille and Richard who are seated beside the fire, each holding a cup of wine.

“Frederick tells me that Edgar is home,” he informs Maria as he pours himself some wine. He watches as her eyes light up.

“Edgar?” Richard enquires. Hal regards him.

“Maria’s brother, did we forget to say that he is travelling with us?” He looks back at Maria and he smiles. “Oh dear, my apologies.”

* * *

 

He is in his study. He always seems to be here. He sees the pile of parchments on his desk, the ink pots and quills neatly lined up within reach and he sighs. His works is almost never done and once more he is reminded of his position within the hierarchy, the fact that he is always busy, always curious and forever learning. He gets very little time to be at one with just himself and his thoughts. There is always someone buzzing at his ear, begging for a moment’s attention. If he is to be honest, alone with his thoughts is sometimes not the best place for him to be.

He left the gathering a little earlier than expected, citing work demands. The house is very quiet, both Hal and Maria out at their own soiree, wherever that may be. It hadn’t been a complete disaster though. There had been Sophie…the serving girl with hair the colour of a newly turned autumn leaf. She was perhaps the only bright spot during an increasingly tiresome gathering and she tasted exactly as he imagined she would do. A faint smile lifts the corners of his mouth as he remembers just how she’d tasted. The hunt reminded him of times gone by when responsibility didn’t rest so heavily upon his shoulders. He misses the abandon of which he once explored his nature but given free reign of it, perhaps it is better not to.

He lifts his head when hears footsteps and his hearing fixes upon the pulsing heartbeats. He closes the book that he has been ignoring and places it on the desk. He hears Maria’s excited chatter and other voices that he does not recognise before they gradually fade away. He wonders whether to investigate but decides not to. It may be his house but this one time he will not intrude even though he is curious.

He stands by the window, his shoulder resting against the wall and sees nothing beyond the night shadows. Then there’s a quiet rap on his door and as he turns, the door opens and Maria enters. Wyndam frowns.

“Are you busy?” she asks as she enters and closes the door behind her. He tilts his head to one side and straightens up.

“That would depend on your definition of the word.” He indicates his desk and she waves a dismissive hand at it.

“I am sure that can wait until tomorrow. How was your gathering this evening?” She approaches his desk and she waits.

“As it usually is, deathly dull but they try I suppose. Why do you ask?” He watches as she smiles and he sees the gleam of mischief in those eyes of hers.

“I think you have been working a little too hard recently Edgar and you deserve to have some fun. Are you interested?”

“You brought guests?” The heartbeats he’d heard earlier.

“Two. They think Hal and I are the greatest most gullible fools in town….”

“And of course you did nothing to dissuade them of this notion.”

“Of course. Hal is charming them at the moment but I have told them that they must meet my wealthy brother who loves to spoil his only sister…” She laughs and Wyndam smiles.

“You are incorrigible. I almost pity them,” he tells her. Once more she smiles.

“There’s more than enough to go around. All of this work makes you a dull boy Edgar, how about some sport?” she suggests.

He holds out a hand. “Lead the way.”

* * *

 

Hal has decided that he does not particularly like Richard Deveraux. He’s an arrogant ass and he treats his companion with contemptible disrespect. Still, he pastes a polite smile upon his face and hopes that Maria returns shortly. She had excused herself with a mischievous smile, informing their guests that her brother should like to meet them.

“So, Mr Yorke…” Richard begins and Hal forces himself back to matters at hand.

“Hal…please…call me Hal,” he invites with a smile.

“ _Hal_. Have you and the charming Maria been wed for very long?” he enquires. Hal regards him.

“A matter of weeks,” he answers and watches his expression change. “You seem surprised at that?”

“Forgive me sir but if you had not said so, I would not have believed that Maria was married, her conduct during the dance this evening suggested otherwise,” Lucille interrupts and Hal turns his attention to her. He’s been quite aware of how her eyes have taken in the furnishings, the tapestries and the plate on view. She’s assessed every item and decided she likes what she sees.

“As I said, we’ve only been wed a matter of weeks, I think perhaps she forgets this sometimes, she has always been fiercely independent, done as she has seen fit.”

“And I’m sure you will swiftly bring her under control,” Richard comments and Hal regards him and swallows down the urge to laugh. He has yet to meet the person who can control Maria. She is a force unto herself but his opinion of Richard is strengthened. He is definitely an ass and he will enjoy ripping out his throat. If he hadn’t fed upon the carriage driver earlier then perhaps that would be what he’d be doing right now. The temptation to lurks strongly inside of him. He could make it a truly memorable event. He looks down at his feet as the thought of it causes his eyes to darken and he feels the sharpness of his fangs nipping at his lower lip. Neither Wyndam nor Maria would be best pleased if he decides to start the celebration without them. He closes his eyes and forces himself back under control. He raises his head as the door to the salon is opened again and Maria _thankfully_ returns and she has Wyndam with her.

Hal’s attention slides back to their guests. The moment Maria mentioned her ‘brother’ and his wealth, he’d seen the spark of interest infuse Lucille Deveraux but the moment she sets eyes upon him, he sees that spark fade, her interest dull.

“Edgar, I’d like for you to meet our new friends Richard and Lucille Deveraux. This is my brother, Edgar Wyndam,” she introduces and Hal has to admire the happy tone to Maria’s voice. She does indeed sound like an indulged spoiled sibling. He sees how Edgar smiles at her before turning his attention to their guests. He takes Lucille’s hand and looks into her eyes.

“I’m very honoured to make your acquaintance,” he replies quietly and Hal watches curiously as Lucille seems to shift subtly in her seat, all of a sudden colour suffusing her cheeks.  

“And you also sir,” she replies coquettishly. Hal lifts his wine to his mouth and he takes a drink to hide his surprise. A smile and a few quietly spoken words and the previously frosty Madame Deveraux has thawed somewhat towards Wyndam.

“Mr Deveraux,” Wyndam greets Richard with scrupulous politeness and a perfunctory shake of his hand before he glances at Hal.

“Shall we have more wine?” he suggests.

* * *

 

Frederick arrives promptly with a fresh decanter of wine and five clean glasses. Wyndam dismisses him and pours and serves. He’s noticed how Lucille’s eyes dart around, the lateness of the hour and the candlelight throw intriguing shadows around the room. She’s giving the illusion that she’s in complete control, that she and her companion are the ones in charge. The slightest of smiles curves his mouth as he presents Lucille with her wine with the faintest of flourishes.

“You seem a little…distracted Madame.” He sees her flicker of surprise, quickly extinguished.

“You have a very fine house sir, you have owned it for long?” she enquires. Wyndam regards her. She’s quite lovely, pale alabaster skin, dark curled hair. Her eyes are large; dark in colour, her lower lip holds his attention briefly. He blinks suddenly and returns his attention to her with a chivalrous smile.

“Since time immemorial. Allow me to show you around this room for example. I think you will find the tapestries especially interesting.” He holds out an arm and he sees how she glances towards her companion who is engaged in conversation with Hal.

“I do believe they are negotiating a card game. Hal does like to play.”

Maria watches keenly as Edgar charms Lucille Deveraux. It was like watching sunshine appear from behind a thunderously dark cloud. For the most part Edgar can and does look fearsome but once in a while he allows his charm to emerge. It catches people unaware and therefore is rarely unsuccessful. He’s using it to full effect now as he takes a candlestick from the table and escorts his guest to the opposite side of the room to examine the richly woven tapestry that graces the wall there. Would she really enjoy hearing the story behind it, Maria doubts that she could even comprehend the tale behind it.

Wyndam pauses in front of the tapestry and he quietly smiles at it. He’d had it specially commissioned for this room and he is particularly fond of it. He places the candlestick down on the low cabinet in front of it. He glances at his companion, to see her staring up at it with wide eyes.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” He keeps his voice low and she glances uncertainly at him. After a pause, she nods. “It’s very… _unusual_ ,” she agrees. Wyndam looks back up at it.

“Are you familiar with Greek mythology?” he enquires and watches as she shakes her head.

“This is the story of Hades, the God of the Underworld. You see, after the overthrow of his father, Cronos, he and his brothers drew lots for shares of the world. Zeus won the sky, Poseidon the sea and Hades seemed to draw the worst of them all, the Underworld. Well I say seemed to…” He returns his attention to the tapestry once more. “I sometimes wonder whether he got exactly what he wanted…” he muses. He stares up at it, seeing the images he’d commissioned, the interpretation of an underworld that appealed to him, a man seated on a throne created from human bone, a beautiful woman seated on a similar chair by his side. All around them are pale wraiths, spirits; inhabitants of his underworld. Once more Wyndam smiles very softly.

“Seated beside him is his wife Persephone. Some say she was tricked into occupying underworld because Hades fed her pomegranate seeds and others think she was the true power behind the throne. The Dread Queen, dead but yet…living. Imagine that.” He turns to look at her, his expression contemplative. He sees how she stares at the tapestry with wide eyes and then he notices the tiniest of shivers tremble through her. “It is also said that Hades was also the God of wealth, that he possessed a helmet that afforded him invisibility and that he was terrible and unpitying.” He watches how she slowly turns to look at him. She looks positively terrified.

“Have I unnerved you Lucille? It was not my intent. Come, let us take a seat and we shall have more wine. I get rather…carried away with subjects that interest me, I must apologise.” He smiles as he takes her arm and leads her to a chair by the fireplace and makes sure that she is seated. She remains where she is as Wyndam goes to get her a fresh glass of wine. In the meantime, Hal and Richard are seemingly engrossed in their card game.

Wyndam sees the somewhat weaker smile that crosses Lucille’s face as he delivers the goblet of wine to her. She possesses none of the calculating greed of earlier, in fact she seems to be a little bit perturbed by the tale he had shared with her. Does she believe that such stories are real? His musings are interrupted by a thump and as Wyndam turns his head, he sees Richard get to his feet. He does not look at all happy. He sees how Hal remains seated, how he regards him with a little smile upon his face.

“Is there a problem?” Wyndam enquires. Richard looks across at him and he sees how Wyndam stands behind Lucille, a hand resting lightly upon one of her shoulders. He looks at him and then at Lucille but doesn’t speak.

“I think he’s accusing me of cheating,” Hal informs him in a languid tone. Wyndam looks across to Maria who was seated beside Richard and she gives a subtle shake of her head.

“And were you?” Wyndam asks. Hal looks at him, he looks almost affronted.

“I most certainly was not. I don’t need to cheat. I was taught well.” He throws a derisory look Richard’s way “Some people just don’t appreciate being bested by others,” he drawls. Wyndam watches as the insult hits home.

“Hal is very good…” Maria interjects. Hal straightens in his chair and he reaches for the gold accumulated in the centre of the table. He pauses and he then looks up at Richard. There’s a gleam in his eye as he regards him.

“Though I would be willing to forfeit…for a price.” His voice is low and suggestive. Richard stares at him.

“And what _is_ your price?” he asks. Hal turns in his seat and he looks at Lucille, seated beside the fireplace with Wyndam’s hand still on her shoulder. He slowly smiles.

“A night with the beautiful Lucille,” he announces as he looks back to Richard to see him blank faced with shock.

“How _dare_ you…” Lucille exclaims and Hal turns again to regard her, to see her getting to her feet. With barely applied pressure Wyndam pushes her back down again. Her eyes go wide. Hal smiles once more and he looks back to Richard. He has turned very pale indeed and he sees how he looks to Maria.

“You allow your husband to conduct himself in this disgraceful manner?” he blusters, two red dots of colour appearing in his ashen cheeks. Maria looks at Hal and he sees the twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

“On the contrary sir, I wouldn’t call his conduct disgraceful, a little bit naughty perhaps but that is Hal for you. He can be very mischievous at times.” She grins at him. She glides over to him and leans over and presses an affectionate kiss on his forehead. She straightens up and looks straight at Richard.

“Do you not realise how… _disrespectful_ he is being? It is an outrage!” he yells and as Maria comes closer to him, she sees the sweat forming on his brow.

“Hal can be outrageous I do agree and yes, somewhat disrespectful too but you must understand that he is young and he is used to getting what he wants and tonight that happens to be your Lucille. He is such a lusty boy. She will enjoy his company tremendously. I think she somewhat deserves it after this evening. _Sit_ _down_.” Her voice suddenly hardens and immediately the atmosphere within the room changes.

Richard slowly does as he is told. Hal straightens in his seat and there is a gleam in his eye as he watches Maria. She goes to stand behind Richard and she leans over slightly, her arms sliding over his shoulders, her hands resting on his chest. He freezes.

“You will not move do you understand me? You misunderstood us this evening Mr Deveraux. You and your companion here took us for gullible rich fools. How very wrong you were.” Her mouth is close to his ear, her voice soft but threatening and Richard isn’t the only one to feel a tingle spark up and down his spine at her tone.

“And for your arrogance and your greed you must be duly punished.” She looks at Hal and slowly she smiles. Hal turns in his seat once more and watches how Wyndam looks at Lucille. He sees the hunger in his expression as he takes in the length of her elegant neck, the white unblemished skin. He feels an answering gnaw in the pit of his stomach, the strength of it making him restless. He slowly gets to his feet, watching attentively as Wyndam kneels down beside Lucille and brushes her hair to one side.

“Such beauty don’t you think Hal?” he suggests, watching as he approaches them.

“Beyond compare sir…” he halts, his eyes drop to the pulse beating erratically at the base of her pale throat and he waits, curling both hands into fists. Wyndam looks across the room to Richard. His eyes bleed black and his fangs appear. Across the room Richard Deveraux exclaims in horror and struggles in his seat but Maria holds him firm.

“Keep still…do not move a single muscle,” she instructs, her lips still beside his ear. He goes obediently still.

* * *

 

Hal watches how Wyndam looks back down at Lucille’s neck. This is the first time he has seen him in this state with coal black eyes and fangs on show. He feels a chill of fear distil in the pit of his stomach as he witnesses how he bites into her. It’s with a delicacy borne of five centuries of existence and he feels the hunger inside of him strengthen and intensify. Once more he feels the sharpness of his own fangs against his lower lip. Lucille cries out and she arches her spine as Wyndam lays claim to her blood. Without pausing, his hand covers her mouth and stifles her screams. After a moment, Lucille’s eyes droop and the fight goes out of her. Hal waits, fidgeting as Wyndam feeds. He wants to taste her for himself and after what feels like an endless age, Wyndam lifts his head. Blood coats his lips and drips onto his chin. He reaches down and grabs a handful of material of Lucille’s gown and slowly draws it upwards. Hal watches as first her shoes and then her fine white stockings are revealed to him. He then sees the pale skin of her exposed thighs.

“There’s a vein in her upper thigh that, if you know how to find it, will feed you as richly as the vein in her neck,” he tells him. Hal’s eyes widen slightly in acknowledgment.

“Go between her legs and use your senses. You’ll find it,” he instructs him and goes back to his feeding.

Lucille is almost unconscious as Hal does as Wyndam has told him. She has long slender legs. He looks down and he listens and then he hears it, a still strong pulse of blood. He reaches out and traces a blue vein visible beneath the still warm, pale skin. Instinct overtakes as he leans down and sinks his fangs into the softness, his black eyes sliding closed as hot blood bursts into his mouth.

He’s lost in the bliss of the blood feed, his fingers gripping her thigh with bruising intensity. She’s every bit as delicious as he imagined her to be and initially he doesn’t feel the pressure of the hand at his shoulder. Suddenly he is yanked back and he snarls before his vision clears.

“Her heart has stopped Hal…and we have another matter to deal with.” Wyndam’s voice is rough with impatience and he blinks up at him. Then he turns his head when he hears Maria curse vividly and ripely. He sees how she gets to her feet. There’s blood on her lips, which she wipes at with the back of one hand. Hal frowns as he gets to his feet.

“What happened?”

“The fool took me by surprise and bolted,” she complains with a frown. Hal turns his head towards the door and he listens.

“The house is locked up, it’s black at pitch. He won’t get far,” Wyndam informs them. Hal’s vision sharpens as the anticipation of a hunt fills him.

“And he’s bleeding,” Maria adds.

* * *

 

The house is in absolute darkness and silent. Hal and Maria emerge into the main body of the house and they both listen.

“Kitchen,” Hal whispers. Maria frowns.

“How do you know?” Hal glances at Wyndam as he approaches the pair, a candlestick in his hand.

“It’s where I would run to,” he comments.

Wyndam hands him the candle stick. “Then find him,” he instructs and he watches as they head in the direction of the large kitchen.

* * *

 

Hal smiles as he hears the rapid tattoo of Richard’s panicked heartbeat. He is close at hand.

“Oh Richard…leaving us so soon?” he calls out. He grins when he hears the quiet exclamation of fear, the rapid footsteps.  The pair reach the kitchen doorway; the room is empty at this time of night though the room is still warm from the ovens.

“Oh come now, must you do this to yourself? There’s nowhere for you to go. The doors and windows are locked tight," he chides. He steps just inside of the kitchen and he can see the whiteness of his shirt in the shadows, no doubt stained by blood.  Then there is a clatter, an exclamation as Richard falls heavily. Hal pretends to wince. “I think he’s found the driver,” he whispers to Maria and her eyes go round.

“You left him there for the servants?” she whispers and Hal shrugs.

“Leftovers, I do share sometimes,” he murmurs back and smiles when she rolls her eyes in response.

“Honestly Hal, such untidiness,” she gently chides.

He just shrugs. “A bad habit of mine I must confess. Richard is all yours my lady. I’ve already dined this evening.” He watches her vanish into the dark shadows of the kitchen and then turns his head as Wyndam comes into view beside him. Hal sees the blood that stains his skin, dyes the front of his shirt.

“I thought you would have marked Mr Deveraux for yourself?” he comments as he pauses beside him.  Hal regards him.

“It would hardly seem fair. We share sometimes don’t we?”

“Indeed we do Mr Yorke, indeed we do. Please could you give this to Maria when she’s finished?” He holds something in his hand which he drops into his. Hal looks down at it and sees the diamond necklace of earlier. He raises an eyebrow and glances into the room as Richard’s scream of agony rents the air.

“I think she’s quite forgotten about this. I’ll make sure she receives it.” They both look again as Richard’s screams dissolve into a long messy wet gurgle.

“I think she’s earned it,” Wyndam comments and Hal watches him walk away.

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter Seventeen.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath.

**Chapter Seventeen:**

All is quiet within the household. Nobody stirs and silence reigns.

The light in the salon changes from its previous midnight blue to a somewhat lighter shade of blue tinged with pink and a hint of gold. As the sun peers above the horizon, it washes the room a gradually more dominant pale shade of gold.

Inside of the room carnage has spent itself and evidence of a night of horror and debauchery is open to view.

Wine decanters and goblets are drained and upended. They lie forgotten on flat surfaces; tables, the floor and even on the window sill. A puddle of fine red wine is partially soaked into the rushes and it mixes with blood already spilled.

As the dawn arrives, the salon is painted with pale fresh washed colour. As the light becomes brighter, the shadows scurry from view.

Presently footsteps echo outside of the room, accompanied by the low hum of conversation.  The handle twists and the door squeaks open to admit two people.

Maud stands still just inside of the entrance and surveys the damage.

“It looks like my Lord and his family had quite the celebration last night,” she comments to her companion who pauses beside her.

“Well Sir did venture out late last night, perhaps this was just for starters or what he brought home,” Ginny answers as she goes further inside. “Best get this lot cleared up, you know how he gets if everything isn’t immaculate.” She carries a pail of hot water with some soap and there is a large linen sheet carefully folded over one arm.

“I think we may need Louis’s assistance for this one.” she adds, seeing the girl lying dead on the day bed. She approaches her and surveys her laid out like a supper buffet, her throat ripped down to the bone, an intriguing looking bite mark high up on one thigh. The bodice of her pale blue dress is spotted with blood, the skirts pushed obscenely high, exposing just about everything that’s indecent about her. Her eyes slide downwards to the fine silk stockings and the expensive ivory silk covered shoes. It would seem that the house’s inhabitants had attracted themselves a fine lady.  Ginny glances away as her companion stands beside her and also looks down at her.

“Long dead, cold as the grave. Pity,” she tells her.

“It’ll be down to the young Lord, he likes a bit of debauchery does that one.” Maud looks at Ginny who smiles back at her. Ginny has grown sweet on the newest member of the family, Hal his name is and she can understand why. He’s handsome alright with his light brown curling hair, full mouth, long well-made legs and broad shoulders. If he were human he’d be a catch for any self-respecting female.

“You don’t know that he’s a Lord, he isn’t addressed as such,” Maud reminds her a touch impatiently and beside her Ginny shrugs.

“Well he should be, what with that accent and those looks of his…and the fact that Sir has taken him under his wing,” Ginny answers defensively and Maud rolls her eyes and gives her head a little shake.

“You’re sweet on him Ginny, for all we know he’s a gutter rat who happened to be gifted with this life. I wouldn’t blame him if he wanted to reinvent himself. Let’s get on with this before Sir wakes up. They’ve made quite the mess this time.”

Candles are burned down to stubs, the dripped wax dried to hardened shells on the wooden furniture. The two females work diligently at erasing the evidence of the night’s shenanigans. It isn’t the first time they’ve done this and they don’t speculate as they clean and wash and dispose. Ginny approaches the card table set up in the opposite corner of the room and she sees the collection of gold coins and the scattered playing cards left there. She tidies them up and drops the coins in the leather pouch that had been thrown onto the floor. She pulls the drawstring closed and leaves it on the table. Theft is not tolerated; Mr Wyndam’s punishments are brutal. He will know that this is here and will expect it to be still here when he comes back. No one dares to defy him.

Together they rearrange the discarded corpse and Louis arrives to carry it through to a small room which is off the kitchen. No one gives him a look as he strides through the kitchen with the body slung over one wide shoulder. This room is colder than the rest of the house and already contains two similarly wrapped bodies prepared for disposal. They have been stripped of their clothing and other such belongings and those contents will be shared between the staff. He has been told that it’s a perk of their employment. Louis barely casts the pile of clothing a look as he lays the body on the wide wooden table between the two waiting occupants.

* * *

 

Frederick carries the tray up two flights of stairs. He doesn’t speak nor does he acknowledge anyone along the way. On the tray is a bowl hidden by a white linen cloth. He ignores the scent that rises from it as he walks along the narrow corridor to his master’s room. He pauses outside of it and takes a second to straighten his spine and square his shoulders. He balances the tray on one hand and carefully knocks on the bedroom door. He doesn’t wait to be bid entrance as he turns the handle and opens it.

The room is heavy with shadows as he makes his entrance. He crosses the room to a low cabinet beside the large bed and places the tray upon it and as he straightens, one of the curtains flanking the bed is drawn back and his master comes into view.

“Good morning sir…I trust you slept well,” Frederick greets. Wyndam doesn’t respond, instead he moves around so that he’s sat sideways and he reaches for the covered bowl. Frederick heads to the windows and opens the thick dark green curtains that hide the room from daylight and he slowly opens them. Bright sunlight floods through, illuminating every nook and cranny. Frederick turns and he sees the clothing that litters the floor.

“Matters are under control downstairs sir, seems like last night was quite a celebration.” As he turns around he notices that Wyndam is not alone. He pauses when he sees the thin red haired girl lying in that enormous bed, the sheet drawn up to her chin. She’s staring at him with wide confused dark eyes. He understands almost immediately as they make eye contact. Frederick then turns and continues to pick up the thrown about clothing. He folds each items carefully and neatly.

“Good. Have you seen Hal or Maria this morning?” Wyndam enquires.

“Not yet sir. With respect, it’s probably a little bit too early for them at the moment.”

Wyndam’s answering chuckle sounds a little bit rusty. “No, you’re probably quite right.” he agrees and stands up. Frederick glances at the occupant of the bed again. She’ll be another new recruit, a further employee of the house. Most of the girls here were recruited by him. She looks terrified and he feels the slightest twinge of sympathy. Using his fingertips, he carefully picks up the home made gown of an indiscriminate shade of green and drops it onto the mattress beside her.

“Did you manage to find out any information regarding our guests last night?” Wyndam enquires. Frederick looks at him and he nods. He turns away from the girl and crosses the room and opens a chest, from which he extracts several items of clothing. He lays them down on the bed beside him.

“They own a property on the edge of town, further west. It is quite isolated and private and may come in useful in the future.” He sees how Wyndam frowns.

“We must investigate this property as soon as possible.” He pauses and looks over his shoulder as if realising for the first time that they aren’t alone. The girl from his bed stands beside it, dressed now and still pale and wide eyed. Wyndam sighs and returns his attention to Frederick. “Could you take… _her_ down to the kitchen and introduce her to Mistress Agnes? She’ll show her the ropes and introduce her to the rest of the staff and get acquainted with her new…way of life.” He watches as Frederick nods and then bows. He returns his attention to the young girl. She looks scared to death as she casts Wyndam a wary look. Frederick holds out a hand.

“This way miss…” he begins and watches the girl carefully edge towards him. He makes himself smile.

“No harm will come to you,” he promises and he means it literally. She’s a new recruit, raw, bewildered and terrified and it is down to people such as himself and Agnes to help show her how to get used to how life will be from now on. They’re all the same here, vampires. Frederick casts another look at his master. He’s shrugging on a robe and there’s a frown on his face as no doubt matters of the day encroach on his mind.

“I’ll be back presently to deal with the matter of your bath sir,” he reminds him and Wyndam glances at him and nods distractedly.

Together Frederick and his charge leave Wyndam’s chamber.

“Emma…” she tells him, her voice is low, shy and it trembles slightly. Frederick looks at her with a frown on his face. She’s such a fragile looking thing and he has to wonder where his master found this mouse of a girl.

“My name…it’s Emma,” she informs him.

* * *

 

The loud slam of a door jolts Maria suddenly awake. She opens her eyes and looks up at the ceiling for a moment. It is morning, possibly quite late judging by the amount of light attempting entry through the heavy dark red curtains at the windows. As her mind clears further, she becomes more aware of a weight across the lower half of her body. She lifts her head slightly from the pillow and looks down to see Hal draped over her, his head pillowed on her stomach. Memories of the previous night begin to filter through but first, she must see who it is leaving the house at this hour. She pushes at his shoulder and automatically he rolls over, onto his opposite side. She climbs out of bed and hurries naked, except for an extravagant diamond necklace, to the window. She peers around one of the curtains and she sees Edgar with Frederick and several other retainers of the house. He mounts his horse ahead of a wagon and she frowns as she watches them ride away. She wonders where he’s off to.

The chilly morning air nips at bare skin and Maria shivers. She returns to the bed and pulls the sheets and blankets up around her chin. She lies back down but stares at the back of a still slumbering Hal.

They’d had such fun last night, drunk on blood and wine. How they had laughed and caroused. Edgar had disappeared God only knows where to, leaving she and Hal both at the house. They’d danced to imaginary music, she had taught him the rudimentary steps of several easy dances and he had shown surprising aptitude and grace. She makes a mental note to mention the fact to Edgar. Perhaps he can include dance lessons in his grand scheme for him. They had ended up here and oh… a small smile of remembrance lifts the corners of her mouth. _Oh_. She takes in the width of his shoulders. He is not as powerfully built as some men she has known but he possesses strength and endurance. He is slender but well-muscled, _very_ well-muscled and carries not an ounce of fat anywhere on that body of his. His fingers are long and elegant, his hands large. He’s eager to learn, pliable in some respects and so young.

“Lizzie…we can’t…” His voice is thick with sleep and slurred. Maria goes absolutely still. The mattress moves as Hal twitches. “No…no, he won’t…he won’t …let us,” he mumbles and he tosses his head restlessly. Maria’s curiosity grows. She wonders who Lizzie is, whether she is someone from his past. She waits.

“Please…Lizzie…please…” he mutters. He shifts, rolls onto his back and the mattress lurches once more. She continues to watch him. There were no nocturnal troubles last night but she wonders how deeply asleep he has to be for them to happen.

Maria moves closer to him, she carefully reaches across and touches his shoulder, her fingers curling into the muscle there.  She gives him a little cautionary shake.

“Hal…you’re dreaming…wake up,” she whispers. She watches as he frowns though his eyes are still shut. Then they slowly, gradually open and Maria watches how he blinks and she knows the moment that he’s aware. He turns his head and he looks at her. He doesn’t speak.

“You were dreaming.” she tells him. “Who is Lizzie?”

She watches how his expression turns curiously blank. He sits up, drawing his knees up and resting his elbows on them as he pulls fingers through unkempt hair.

“I have no idea,” he tells her.

She copies, her eyes never leaving him. “I think that you do. I think you know exactly who she is. Is she someone special Hal? Is she a lover? a sweetheart? Who?”

He turns his head and he glares at her.

“Why should that matter to you Maria? Why? She’s nobody to you. Are you actually jealous?” he snaps back, his eyes flashing with emotion. Maria stares at him.

“Jealous of someone who once had a part in your life? Hardly!” she retorts haughtily and Hal chuckles humourlessly and shakes his head in response.

“Then why would you want to know?” he retaliates and he kicks back the sheet and he climbs out of bed.

“Because you were dreaming about her so she must have meant something to you!” she retaliates crossly. He pauses beside the bed and for a moment he stares into nothing and she knows that whoever she is or was, he is remembering her and jealousy spikes her heart. It disconcerts her. He turns his head and he stares at her. His eyes are wide and glassy looking.

“She wasn’t a sweetheart or a lover and that is all you need to know. I’m going to get dressed. I’d advise you to do the same,” he tells her in a strangely controlled voice. He leans down and picks up the clothing scattered at his feet. He holds them in front of his body in a small bundle and walks out of the room.

* * *

 

Bartholomew West turns his head when he hears the door open and he quickly hides his surprise upon seeing Hal enter. He doesn’t look as well presented as usual. His shirt is untucked, his hair uncombed and he looks in need of a shave.

“Mr Yorke,” he comments instead and Hal regards him.

“Mr West,” he answers politely “Am I late?” he continues and he walks to the table where more books and parchments await his attention.

“Oh…umm…not overly so. I really wasn’t expecting to see you today; you caught me a little by surprise.”

Hal glances at him as he takes his seat. “Oh really, why?” he enquires and Bartholomew regards him for a moment or two before he approaches him.

“Because you were distinctly uninterested in any kind of lesson I had to offer the last time we were together. In fact I thought you were just humouring Mr Wyndam and myself,” he explains. Hal sits a little straighter in his seat.

“Well I’ve had time to come to terms with the idea and if Mr Wyndam thinks this will further my prospects then who am I to argue with him. Shall we begin?”

Bartholomew stares at him open-mouthed. Then he realises, and he gives a little shake of his head as instead he offers a smile. “Of course Hal, let’s begin. The letters of the alphabet…”

* * *

 

Hal is avoiding her. She hasn’t seen him at all since their disagreement earlier in the day and the door to the library has remained firmly closed. It would seem that he’s developed an all-consuming interest in pursuing an education. Edgar still hasn’t returned from his trip either and she’s still wondering where he could have got to. She also wonders whether it has something to do with their guests of the previous evening.

The sun is sinking below the horizon when Hal eventually exits the library. His head is aching from what he has learned today; letter formation, improving his reading skills and the potential that both will afford him in the future. He is enjoying it in a strange kind of manner. He finds it easier than he expected it to be. He’s hungry and he wonders if he can scrounge anything from the kitchen. Maybe if he charms one of the maids, he’s noticed one of them becomes very shy and tongue-tied in his presence. He smiles to himself. Perhaps she’s in the kitchen this evening? He heads off in its direction.

* * *

 

Maria opens the door to Edgar’s study and she smiles when she sees him seated behind his desk. He looks up but his face is expressionless and he goes back to his task. As she approaches, she sees what it is that he’s doing.

The surface of the desk is covered with jewellery; necklaces, bracelets, rings and ear bobs. Diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires, they twinkle and gleam in the candle light. Maria’s eyes widen with delight and she advances towards the desk.

“Edgar…where on _earth_ did you get these from?” She reaches for a ring that holds an emerald the size of a bird’s egg and exclaims when he slaps the back of her hand.

“I’ve just returned from investigating a property previously owned by our guests yesterday evening. This is what I uncovered and have claimed.” He reaches for a rope of pale ivory fat pearls and trails them through his fingers. “Quite the collection and all of it stolen.” He glances up at her. “It’s almost amusing that your ruby necklace of yesterday caught her attention at the soiree you and Hal attended. A lot of this jewellery is easily worth twice the amount of that piece.”

“Perhaps we should have made a straight exchange instead,” Maria muses and Wyndam glances at her. He discards the pearls and reaches for the emerald ring she had been admiring earlier. He holds it in the palm of his hand as if weighing it.

“She wanted more than that, much more. They both did, to their peril. You play with fire, one day you will get burned.” He drops the ring into her hand and watches how her eyes light up. She smiles at him as she slides it onto one finger. He isn’t surprised in the slightest to discover that it fits.

“Thank you Edgar.” she tells him and he allows himself a smile.

“You earned it. Where is Hal, I thought perhaps he could choose something from all of this.” His hand sweeps across the gems.

“I have no idea; I have not seen him all day. He’s been locked away in the library with Bartholomew,” Maria grumbles, still looking at the ring, turning her hand this way and that. Wyndam looks at her, mildly surprised.

“Voluntarily? Did you two have a disagreement?”

She pauses and slowly and warily she looks at him. “And why would you say that?”

“Because it’s the only reason I can think of why Hal would _voluntarily_ spend time in the library with Bartholomew, to stay out of _your_ way.” He watches how she frowns. “What was it about?” he enquires and she glances at him.

“I asked him about Lizzie. He was talking in his sleep,” she defends when he begins to frown.

“And what did he say?”

“That she was neither a lover nor a sweetheart. He became very defensive.”  Maria pouts.

“He wouldn’t talk about her?”

Maria shakes her head rapidly, still frowning slightly. “He needs to talk about whatever it is that causes him to have these nightmares, about her.”

“Not until he’s ready to but he will and with the right incentive, just give him time,” he advises. He smiles very slightly at her obvious frustration. “You always were far too impatient my dear.”

* * *

 

The kitchen maids are all in a flutter over the bounty that was delivered to them earlier in the evening. Emma sits and watches them, still too shy and too new to join in with their excitement.

One of the vampires from upstairs, Louis she thinks his name is, delivered two large chests into the main kitchen area and at this moment in time the maids and kitchen assistants are delving into them and extracting the contents. There are stockings and chemises and shoes and gowns of unbelievable beauty, colour and expense. She hasn’t ever seen anything so fine before. Her own head is still filled with the buzz of confusion. She feels strange still, as though her body doesn’t quite belong to her. Agnes has assured her that the feeling will pass in time and she has to trust her but right now everything feels strange and she’s ravenously hungry. It itches at her constantly, like an irritating flea bite. She looks to the doorway and wonders whether Mr Wyndam… _Edgar_ will appear, to see how she’s fitting in.

“Here…this is yours.”  She turns her head back and watches as Agnes approaches her, a pale blue silk dress looped over one arm and Emma’s eyes go wide with surprise.

“M…me?” she whispers as Agnes drops it across her lap.

“Yes, you. You can’t be expected to wear that dreary green thing forever. This is much more suitable. Of course you’re just a dainty little thing but a few of us are handy with a needle and thread, we’ll alter it to fit you in no time at all. Why don’t you have a look in the other trunk and see if there are any shoes to fit you too?” she suggests and she sees how wide the girl’s eyes go. She looks down at the dress and then she looks to the doorway. Agnes sighs quietly.

“You won’t be seeing him again my dear.” She keeps her voice quiet, motherly and Emma looks back at her with innocently wide eyes. Agnes knows that as time goes on, that innocence will quickly be stripped away.

“Who…”

“You know who I mean…the Master. You have stars in your eyes my dear. He took you to bed, made you what you are and you think that you’re somebody special to him. In truth you are not and he won’t come, he won’t come to see you. It’s just the way that he is.” She sees the pain flare in her eyes. She approaches her and smiles at her as she sits down beside her.

“You’re part of this family now my dear and we’ll take care of you.” She lifts a hand and brushes an errant red curl behind one ear, _Sir is always especially fascinated with girls with red hair for some reason._ “We’ll show you how to survive. He’s harsh but he’s fair and you’ll quickly get used to it. Now go and see if there are any shoes in that trunk that’ll fit your dainty feet.” She nudges her towards the group of maids still gathered around the trunks and watches her go. She didn’t want to remind her that chances are, he won’t even know her name or care to know it. It’s just the way he is. She smiles as she watches how she examines the gift that she’s been given

Emma stands up and holds the dress up against her and she looks down at the pale blue silky material. It is the most exquisite thing she’s ever touched never mind owned and her mind reels. She doesn’t want to believe Mistress Agnes’s words but she realises that she’s been here a while and she will know his habits. She sighs and forces the sadness out of her mind.

There are a few spots of blood on the bodice but she’s sure she’ll get those out in no time at all.

* * *

 

Hal enters the study at Wyndam’s request and he falters briefly when he sees Maria seated beside the fire. The look he sends her is distinctly wary as he approaches Wyndam’s desk.

 His voice is low “You wanted to see me?” 

“I did. I wanted to give you this.” He hands something over to Hal. For a moment Hal pauses, unsure.

“A gift sir?” Hesitantly he holds out a hand and Wyndam drops a heavy gold and ruby brooch into it. He looks down at it in surprise before looking back at him.

“I don’t understand…”

“The Deveraux’s from yesterday Hal, this was part of the spoils of the evening. Take it, you’ve earned it. Call it a reward.” He watches how Hal looks down at it again, curling his fingers around it.

“Thank you sir,” he whispers, his tone strangely impersonal. Wyndam regards him for a moment.

“You don’t receive many gifts do you?” he mentions and Hal quickly shakes his head.

“You distrust them, you think that there’s an ulterior motive in receiving them.” He watches how Hal’s head snaps up in astonishment at this observation.

“I don’t have such a motive Hal, it is a gift, honestly meant,” he assures him. He sees how Hal looks between him and Maria. He gets to his feet.

“How about sharing some wine with us Hal? I received some encouraging news this evening. The weather is finally on our side, we leave for England tomorrow.”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal doesn't like the thought of returning to England.

**Chapter Eighteen.**

The sky is stained a deep bruised purple as dusky shadows gather. Hal pays them no attention as he walks towards the stables. His stride is long and purposeful, his shoulders are squared and his brow is furrowed in concentration.

_Tomorrow, we leave tomorrow._

He pushes the panic further away. He tells himself that yes they are returning to England but he will not be returning to _him_. He doesn’t have to, he owes him nothing. London is a growing city; he has nothing to be afraid of. He takes a breath as he enters the stables and the familiar scent of horse flesh, straw and manure assaults his nostrils. He pauses just inside of the door way and unclenches tightly gripped fists.

He won’t see him again but he still invades his dreams, his nightmares. How he treated him, what he did to him. He has never forgotten any of it and whether he likes it or not, his dreams about him still haunt him, reminding him of his atrocities and his abuse.

But he is no longer that scared helpless little boy. On the contrary, he could return to that hell-hole he’d existed in and massacre them all. He could bathe in their blood, glory in it, walk away and celebrate their demise. He owes them nothing except that. He ponders the idea for a moment. It makes him smile with its possibilities. What would Edmund think upon seeing that? It would be nice to return that kind of fear to him, a thousand fold.

He walks again, pausing by each stall until he comes to Achilles. He watches as he approaches him and he smiles as he reaches out and with a gentle hand, strokes the long velvety muzzle. The horse snorts and nudges against his shoulder. Hal chuckles quietly and opens the gate.

* * *

 

Wyndam lifts his head as the door to the salon opens and he watches Maria enter. He sees how her eyes cast about the room.

“Hal isn’t here,” he informs her. 

“He doesn’t seem to be in the house. No one has seen him,” she replies and Wyndam shrugs. He’d barely stayed long enough to have a drink with them.

“Perhaps he has gone into town, a final hurrah before departure tomorrow?” he suggests and Maria frowns irritably.

“Or he could have just… _left_. You mentioned returning to England, perhaps it was too much for him to take on and he’s left,” she answers.

Slowly Wyndam gets to his feet. “I’m sure you’ve visited his chamber, is his travelling chest still there?” he enquires. Maria looks up at him as he slowly approaches her.

“Yes but he could have just decided to travel lightly and unencumbered…”

Wyndam places his hands on her shoulders “You are unusually concerned about his well-being Maria. Have you checked the stables?” She flicks another look up at him but her frown does not fade.

“Not yet, that was my next port of call.”

“Then we shall look together. If Achilles is still there then we’ll know he has perhaps gone into town seeking some sport of some description,” he reassures her.

* * *

 

They head toward the stable block. The evening shadows have grown darker and a stiff breeze whips around them as they walk.

“What if he’s left Edgar?” she enquires as they approach the building. He glances at her.

“You’re beginning to sound remarkably like a wife my dear. The charade with the Deveraux’s was exactly that. He is not your property,” he chides but there’s a hint of censure in his tone.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” she demands and Wyndam pauses suddenly and he turns to regard her.

“Exactly how it was meant to sound like. Hal is not your husband. You may enjoy a bit of rough and tumble with him on occasion but that does not entitle you to ownership of him,” he retorts and ignores her gasp of outrage and turns back to the stable block. He goes inside.

He frowns when he sees that the bay containing Achilles is empty. Slowly he turns to look at Maria.

“Now do you think he’s left?” Maria demands and he frowns at her.

“Maybe and maybe not. He has until dawn to return. I’ve been waiting for something like this, a show of spirit, a hint of that rebellion I keep hearing about.”

“He’s strong willed Edgar; he won’t care what you think or what you expect,” Maria jabs and he glares at her.

“He made a promise to me Maria and as you know, I like those promises to be kept. He has until dawn to make his return. It would be an act of gross stupidity for him to defy me further.”

* * *

 

Hal crouches low over Achilles’ neck and lets him have his run. He feels the wind whip at his skin, rush through his hair, his cloak flying out behind him. The scenery rushes past him in a blackened, shadowy blur and it is exhilarating. He feels euphoric, he feels _free_ and he almost laughs out loud. The thoughts of England and what lie there fly away like insects. It fades away, released like the catch of a cloak. He smiles broadly. He could keep riding, keep going and not stop until the sun rises once again. How far could he go and how long would it take Wyndam to realise. What would he do? He ponders on it for a moment until ahead in the distance he sees a faint orange glow and as he gets closer he smells wood smoke. He slows Achilles until he’s walking more sedately but his lungs heave a little bit. It’s been a little while since he last did this, he’ll be a little bit out of practice. He brings Achilles to a halt and he listens intently. He can hear the low murmur of conversation, the rapid but steady pulsing of heartbeats.

Carefully and as quietly as possible he dismounts. He tethers his horse to the low branches of a tree and he turns his attention to the small group of people huddled around the camp fire he’d smelled earlier. They don’t seem to be aware of him just yet. His senses sharpen with his interest. He counts six of them; an older man and woman and there are four children of varying ages, two of them seem to be in their teens and the two younger ones seem to be several years below that in age. Their clothing is cheap and coarse looking. He slowly crouches down behind a low bush and he continues to observe them. They talk amidst themselves as they eat and he watches how they interact, how they smile at one another. Their eyes are warm, their smiles wide and honest. He waits for the frowns, the anger and the blows that are surely to accompany them. He’s used to moods changing on a whim which over time made him very aware and quick on his feet. His head tilts to one side curiously. Then he slowly rises to his feet and moves closer to them, drawing his sword from its scabbard as he does so.

He’s almost upon them when the oldest male becomes aware of his presence. Hal watches how he stiffens and then quickly turns in his direction and upon spying him he jumps to his feet. Automatically Hal raises his sword and points it towards his chest. The two young boys follow suit and from the corner of his eye he sees the two girls huddle close to their mother. It’s a family group he realises as he sees their faces more clearly, sees the family resemblance in faces and colouring. For a brief moment he wonders whether he ever shared a resemblance to those who’d sired and birthed him. The thought is discarded in an instant as he returns his attention to the father figure. He holds the blade in a steady grip.

“Well...isn’t this pleasant?” he begins. He grins as the father lunges towards him but he freezes when Hal presses the point of his sword into the centre of his chest.

“Ah ah ah…” he taunts, the briefest hint of a smile on his face. “Do not, if you value the lives of your wife and your children.” he warns in a low voice. The two men stare at each other.

“We have nothing worth stealing,” the older man tells him and watches how he looks at his wife and children in turn before returning his attention to him.

“I’m not here to rob you,” Hal retorts scornfully.

“What do you want?” he demands and Hal shrugs casually.

“I haven’t quite decided just yet.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees one of the older boys move towards him and with his other hand, he reaches behind him and pulls out the blade he keeps tucked in the small of his back and he points it in his direction.

“I will not hesitate to use this. Do you have a problem understanding me?” His voice rises sharply with irritation.

“There are six of us, you are insane if you think you can beat us!” the same boy cries out. Hal hears the fear tremble in his voice.

“Such bravado young sir, perhaps that is indeed the case but in truth maybe two of you would have the courage to try and attack. The rest of you would protect your mother and your sisters. You cannot stop me, nor can you kill me and trust me when I say that I will not hesitate in ending your lives and glorying in your blood,” he answers and hears the whimpers of fear from the girls who are huddled pathetically in their mother’s embrace, hiding in her skirts. He stares at them. They stare back with their tear streaked eyes, making paths in the grime in their face. Hal takes a sharp step back as the father attempts to dodge around the blade. He attacks, the blade sinking easily into the soft flesh of the father’s belly. Hal watches in mild curiosity how his eyes bulge in pain as he grabs at his wound and sinks to his knees. He yanks the sword out as the older man keels over. He lifts his eyes and fixes the eldest son with a steady glare.

“Did you think I was bluffing? I never bluff,” he hisses.

He strides towards them, his eyes bleaching a furious black.

* * *

 

No one hears their screams or their pleas for mercy. This deep in the woods there isn’t another soul for miles. The shadows deepen into the full blackness of night and the camp fire is reduced to a pile of glowing embers. Hal kneels in front of it, seemingly mesmerised by the glow. Slowly he lifts an arm and wipes his forearm across his mouth, smearing the sleeve of his shirt red. He hears a timid whimper and he turns his head in its direction.

The little boy stares back at him with wide, terrified eyes. Hal regards him. He lies on a pile of worn sacking, trembling, gazing at him as if he’s Lucifer reborn. And perhaps he is.

“Stop making that noise,” Hal instructs in a hard voice and sees the boy clamp his hand over his mouth but his entire body trembles all the same. Hal continues to stare at him, at his mid brown hair and big eyes. He looks to be about seven or eight years of age. He remembers being that age. It feels like an eternity ago.

_‘Where are you hidin’ you little bastard…you’d better pray I don’t find you!’_  The loud angry roar echoes inside of Hal’s skull, making him flinch. He blinks and turns his head quickly, his eyes searching for additional shadows in the blackness. There’s nobody there, of course there is nobody there. He sighs shakily. He returns his attention to his companion. He sees the blood splotches that taint his skin and spot his clothing. He’d made quite a mess he has to admit. Usually he’s rather methodical but something about this evening unleashed the animal in him. It had felt…liberating to let go like that.

“Come here.” Hal instructs. He reaches for the boy, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck as he gets to his feet. The boy stiffens and freezes. Hal glances at him as he does so.

“Wh…where are we going?” the boy’s timid voice shakes as they begin to walk.

“I need to wash…” Hal murmurs as he listens for the sound of rushing water. He didn’t pay too much attention to his surroundings before but he assumes that since the family camped here then running water has to be nearby and he needs to wash this blood from his skin. He does hear it and heads off in its direction, dragging the boy along beside him.

He pauses beside the riverbank and looks up as the moon breaks free of its cloud bank. It’s not a full moon; he would not be out tonight if that were the case. He still remembers his encounter with the werewolves with a sense of disbelief and a tremor of fear. The moon is strong enough to flood the glade with light and he looks back to the boy he still holds on to. He lets go of him, throwing him down onto the grass at his feet. The boy rolls onto his back and looks up at him. Hal stares at him.

“If you run, I will be forced to catch you and you will not like the consequences of your actions,” he warns in a low voice. The boy doesn’t answer. He knows very well what those consequences will be.

* * *

 

The water feels cool against his skin as he sluices the blood away. After a moment or two he moves back and sits on the grassy bank. He turns his head in the direction of the boy and is almost surprised to see him still huddled there where he’d thrown him. The boy’s eyes are still wide and terror filled.

“Did they treat you kindly?” Hal enquires and the boy just stares at him, as still as a statue. Hal regards him and rolls his eyes. “Your mother and your father…did they treat you kindly?” he clarifies and after a moment or two the little boy nods.

“I did not know either my mother or my father. Imagine that. I grew up in a detestable place, full of horror and depravity and cruelty and I had no one called mother or father to look after me.” He looks away, across the river and his eyes go vague. “I loved them and I hated them. I wanted them to love me but I hated that I needed them,” he murmurs. He blinks and then looked back at the boy.

“Don’t you see? I set you free from all of that. You have nothing more to fear, nothing more to dread. You can live your life as you see fit and not by how someone else decides. One day you will thank me.” his voice is rough with conviction. The little boy stares at him and Hal frowns.

“While you were with them you were not safe…” he hisses at him. He moves to his knees and he crawls towards him and he doesn’t notice how the boy cringes back. He stares into his eyes and grips his thin shoulders with strong fingers.

“Tell me that you understand,” he whispers at him. He then freezes and his head snaps around, his eyes become as wide as the boy’s as he listens. Did he hear the snap of a twig? The soft tread of a footstep? When he next looks at the child, his eyes are filled with fear.

“They’re coming…” he hisses at him. He scrambles to his feet and at the same time he pulls the boy up with him. His entire body is rigid as his eyes seek them out.

“Oh God…we must hide…if they find us…oh God…” he turns.

The water is cold as he stumbles into the stream, ignoring the child he still holds onto. His eyes search the shadows, searching for ghosts.

_“Where am I going?”_

_“You’ll find out when you get there. Your visitor is eager to meet you and that’s all you need to know. You must be nice to him.”_

_“No…please…”_

_“Don’t be difficult now Hal…let’s get inside.”_

_He turns his head; terror makes his heart pound in his breast. His eyes are wide and he can barely breathe. He rears back when he sees the man. He’s seen him several times before, he like a drink but he doesn’t touch the whores. He wrenches his arms free, the sudden strength catching his captors unaware and they release their hold on him. He runs, barely aware of the thump of footsteps close behind him. He has to get away; the uppermost thought in his mind is that he must escape. He staggers and clatters down the wooden staircase, his eyes seeking shadows and safety. He finds it; he sinks into it, down. He’s gone._

* * *

 

Maria hears the sound of horse’s hooves and relief floods through her. He’s back, he’s returned. She heads out of the house towards the stable block, bearing a torch. She’s in time to see him dismount.

“Hal!” she calls and he spins around and watches as she hurries towards him.

“Where have you been?” she hisses. She stops in front of him and brings the lit torch close to his face. He moves back and she sees his bloody shirt. She takes a step towards him and touches the sleeve.

“Why is your shirt wet?” She looks down and realises that he’s completely soaked through and the frown deepens. “What have you been doing?” She looks into his eyes and sees his damp hair.

“It is no business of yours what I’ve been doing Maria,” he retorts and his tone makes her blink.

“You disappear on Achilles the night before we depart for England and you tell me it’s no business of mine?” she retorts archly.

“Did you think that I’d run away like a scared child?” he demands scornfully.

“The thought did cross my mind,” she admits and his eyes narrow.

“I appreciate your _trust_ in me and in truth I contemplated it but as you can see, I came back.”

“Soaking wet and covered in blood, so obviously you discovered some sport on your journey.” She watches how the strangest of lights flickers in his eyes before it is swiftly extinguished.

“I did and now I must take care of Achilles and retire to my chamber, after all tomorrow promises to be a _momentous_ day.” His voice drips with sarcasm and she just stares at him.  He nods to her and takes hold of Achilles’s reins and with a click of his tongue, leads him back into the stable.

* * *

 

He strips out of his clothing, dried to an uncomfortable cool dampness and clammy against his skin. He sits on the side of his bed and as he hauls off his ruined boots, he knows that sleep will not claim him tonight.

_Tomorrow, we leave tomorrow._ The thought plods steadily through his mind. He thought that he could outrun it, that by never returning to England’s shores he could escape it. He realises now that he’ll never be free and the best way to achieve absolute freedom is to face his nightmares head on. He needs to revisit and once that is achieved then and only then can he move forward.

Snow and Wyndam wants him polished and educated to a superior level of inhumanity. They want him to be extraordinary, a man to be feared, a vampire of legend. He takes a deep breath but frowns at the level of discomfort that revelation brings him.

As he’d watched the drowned corpse of the small child float away from him, only one revelation occurred to Hal Yorke.

That he wanted to be free. 

 

 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal's loyalty is tested.

**Chapter Nineteen.**

His eyes feel heavy and scratchy as he slowly makes his way down the stairs. He’s exhausted but Frederick has woken him up with a knock on his door with a summons from Wyndam. No doubt he will want to talk about his vanishing act last night. It makes him frown. He didn’t run away, he came back so he doesn’t understand why he should need to speak with him unless he wishes to reprimand him like a naughty child.

He is not in the mood for any kind of censure this morning.

Even at this hour of the morning the household is busy. People are rushing about, making last minute preparations for the journey, making sure that nothing is forgotten and that the house is closed down again until the next time Wyndam arranges to visit. He dodges around the busy servants, breaking his fast the most uppermost thought in his mind. He wonders whether he can sweeten Ginny into finding him something nice to eat in the middle of this organised bedlam. He takes no real notice of the comings and goings as he heads toward the kitchen.

* * *

 

He sits alone at the trestle in the kitchen with a meal of bread and cheese in front of him and a cup of milk beside the plate. He surprised Ginny with the request for milk rather than wine or small ale but she didn’t ask why and even if she had, he wouldn’t have explained. He is in the mood for milk this morning. It helps to sweeten his mood somewhat and brace himself for whatever Wyndam has in store for him. There are times when he has dined extraordinarily well and there are also times when he’s been happy with a simple meal of bread and cheese and this morning is one of those days. The bread is soft, the cheese mild and the milk delicious and cold. He reaches for his cup for another mouthful.

“Well well well, so you’re who Alexei created on that battlefield at Orsha.” The voice is quiet even within the otherwise empty room but Hal straightens all the same, a finger of ice tracking down the length of his spine. He carefully places the cup he’d been drinking from back down onto the table and with deliberate slowness he turns his head in its direction. He’s a tall man, thin, with greying hair and pale coloured eyes. Hal swallows at the mention of Alexei’s name.

“You knew him?” he enquires politely. The man slowly enters the quiet kitchen, his arms behind his back and he nods slowly.

“I did, very well. I also know William; perhaps you’ve met him too?” He watches Hal carefully and he sees by the subtle shift of expression on his face. Hal turns in his seat so that the trestle is behind him. He doesn’t stand up and instead he waits for him to approach him.

“Briefly. You, though, have me at a disadvantage,” Hal answers. The man pauses in front of him. He regards him, his pale green eyes skimming over his face.

“Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Xavier…I’m the…burgher of this town I suppose you could call it. I hold it; control it for Mr Snow and indirectly for my Lord Wyndam too. You must be Hal Yorke.” A faint smile of satisfaction drifts across his face and his eyes widen slightly in appraisal. The hairs at the back of Hal’s neck lift and prickle at the examination. The older man is looking at him as if he’s unable to believe his eyes. He doesn’t move as Xavier slowly lowers himself down onto the bench beside him, not once breaking eye contact.

“You _are_ a handsome boy aren’t you? Alexei always did have an eye for them.” His voice is low and secretive as his eyes rake Hal up and down in an open, predatory manner which makes Hal clench his fists in his lap.

“What do you want?” he keeps his voice equally low. Xavier regards him for a moment longer, that strange half smile on his face.

“Well _officially_ I’m here to bid Lord Wyndam a suitable farewell, protocol requests it you see. Mr Snow gets very upset if any of his underlings are snubbed but unofficially…” His voice fades away and Hal raises his eyes to his face. “Unofficially I was very curious about you. My Lord mentioned you in passing at our most recent gathering, said you were his latest protégé and that you ended your sire’s life but that you would not tell him why.” His voice is silky and heavy with insinuation. Hal doesn’t respond. “But I can imagine why…I’ve heard that you’re quite… _spirited_. I like that.” He lowers his voice to a whisper as he leans in closer. He reaches out and places a hand on Hal’s shoulder. To anyone observing them it looks innocent, paternal almost. Hal tenses as the hand strokes the length of his shoulder and then slides upwards to touch the side of his face, his thumb tracing the bow of his lower lip. Slowly but deliberately, Hal pulls his head away. Xavier smiles at him.

“Things are going to change very soon young Hal, so it would pay for you to be nice to me. We could come to a beneficially _mutual_ agreement you and I. I could offer you so much…” Xavier moves closer to Hal, his mouth beside his ear. Slowly Hal turns so that he’s facing Xavier more fully on. He stares into his pale eyes.

“And why do you think I would be interested in anything that you could have to offer me when my patron is an Old One, second only to Snow himself?” he replies in a low voice. Xavier’s eyes scan his face and his smile falters very slightly. It’s the opening that Hal needs and he retaliates instantly.

He half rises from his seat as he lunges forward and wraps one hand around Xavier’s throat and with lightning quick reflexes he forces him back and down. Xavier’s head connects hard with the wooden surface of the trestle, making the plate and cup already there jump and rattle. With his other hand, he pulls out his knife. He stands over Xavier as he presses the sharp point against his cheek and applies just enough pressure so that a bead of blood swells around the tip. Xavier’s eyes widen briefly in alarm.

“I’d be very careful if I were you…” he wheezes and Hal leans down and glares at him.

“Why? Because you’re somebody _important_ in this town? You’re a disgusting specimen Xavier, you and Alexei…what you do, how you do it…you sicken me and I think that I’d be doing this world a _great_ service in ridding it of you. You are not as important as you like to think! You’re not like Wyndam, you can and will be replaced!” he hisses back at him.

“You end me and you will be in great trouble mark my words and not from your master,” Xavier gasps as Hal growls, baring his teeth and tightening his grip around his throat.

“Do you think that I truly care? I _ended_ my sire; I murdered another older vampire who tried to make a fool out of me. I am not concerned about you sir, your high opinions of yourself or your ambitions. You are nothing to me.” He raises his arm, wielding the blade and it’s then that he hears the rush of hurried footsteps and a pair of arms come around his upper body and hauls him away from his quarry. He yanks himself free, snarling at the interruption like a caged beast.

“Hal! _Enough_!” Wyndam’s voice is loud and authoritative. Hal becomes obediently still, the breath heaving in his lungs. He glances over his shoulder at Louis who stands guard over him before returning his attention to Wyndam.

“This has nothing to do with you…” he hisses at him. Wyndam pauses in between Hal and Xavier and he turns and he glares at his charge for a moment before he turns his attention to Xavier.

“You’re here very early Xavier. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he enquires politely. Xavier has straightened up. He straightens dishevelled clothing and wipes at the trickle of blood on his cheek. He stares at Hal for a moment.

“I _was_ here to bid you and your party a safe trip home and then I saw just how busy you were preparing for your departure. I caught a glimpse of young Hal here and I remembered how you spoke of him at your meeting so I thought to make myself known to him, to introduce myself. You didn’t tell me how rude and stand offish he was Lord Wyndam, you saw for yourself his reaction to me.” He curls his lip at Hal who lunges towards him only for Louis to grab onto him again and restrain him. Wyndam turns to look at Hal and his eyes are as cold as ice.

“Hal…contain yourself. I do not approve of this behaviour from you to a guest in my home,” he warns him.

“He is lying to you…he made insinuations…he _knew_ Alexei…” Hal defends hotly.

“Well of course he did, like me he has connections and friends…” He watches how Hal shakes his head.

“Not like _that._ ” he hisses. Wyndam stares at him for what feels like a long moment.

“You forget yourself. Apologise to Xavier and that will be an end to it,” he commands and Hal glares at him.

“I will do no such thing sir. Punish me as you see fit but I’ll be damned if I will speak to that creature again.” He shakes himself free of Louis’s grip and turns to leave the kitchen.

“Such an inconsiderate pup Lord Wyndam and a teller of such monstrous lies.” Xavier’s voice is low and affronted as Hal heads towards the kitchen exit.

Hal stops dead in his tracks and it’s as though a red mist has fallen in front of his eyes. He spins and strides back towards the small group. As he does so, he yanks Louis’s sword from its scabbard and holds it firmly in his right hand. Both men turn in his direction and Xavier’s eyes widen at the expression of determination on the younger vampire’s face. He grabs hold of Wyndam, his forearm around his throat and pulls him in front of him. Hal stops dead.

“Not another step!” Xavier warns and it’s then Hal notices the wooden stake that he has pressed against Wyndam’s side. “I will use it,” he threatens. Hal’s eyes widen and he looks to Wyndam. He is unmoving, still and not at all perturbed.

“You are signing your death warrant,” Hal hisses at him and Xavier grins at him.

“Do you really believe that Hal? There are plans underway for a change and I offered you a way to join us, there is still time for you to change your mind,” he reminds him. Hal frowns at him.

“Ah yes…would that be the plan to unseat me?” Wyndam interrupts and Hal watches the shock bloom in Xavier’s eyes.

“You didn’t truly think I was oblivious to your behind the scenes machinations did you? I think you overestimated yourself Xavier, there are few secrets in our world that I’m not privy to.” Wyndam’s voice is steady. He looks to Hal and there is no fear there.

“How?”

“I was suspicious when you claimed not to have heard of Hal. You were friends with Alexei, you kept in touch and yet you claimed not to have heard of him or the story that he killed him. Everyone has heard that tale Xavier, the fledgling vampire who killed his maker? But then you gave me the biggest clue as to why, dropping the smallest of hints, prudently mentioning the rumours you’d heard about Alexei but  careful to keep yourself out of it of course but you knew, you always knew. Always obliging and behind the scenes, always indispensable, the perfect clerk.” The dart hits its mark as Hal sees his eyes narrow at the insult. His arm tightens around Wyndam’s throat, pulling him back.

“You’re in no position to throw around insults Wyndam,” he hisses against his ear and he presses the tip of the stake deeper into his side. Hal watches Wyndam wince very slightly and his hand tightens on the hilt of the sword he holds.

“You’re like a spider, spinning your webs and holding onto the lion’s share of the power. Where’s your fire, your brutality? I’m tired of bowing and scraping to the likes of you.” Xavier continues to snarl. Hal watches as Wyndam smiles and it is as cold as a midwinter’s night.

“Because waging all-out war against either the werewolves or even the humans is not the way to do things. The gathering of information and the acquiring of knowledge is power Xavier, blood shed is just the final entertainment. The webs that I spin are the ones that keep us in control above the dogs and the humans. I have earned my power, my respect. You were always jealous, hidden behind your greasy obedient smiles but I saw it. Remember what I said about jealousy Hal.” His voice is quiet, made slightly hoarse by the strength of Xavier’s grip but his gaze is steady on Hal’s face. The smile fades as Xavier tightens his hold once more. Xavier looks at Hal.

“I think we should ask our young Hal his opinion of the matter. What do you say sir? Shall we end him here, in the kitchen of all places with his household as witnesses? Would you like the honour of doing it? His past protégés all hated him, you should ask Robert what he thinks of him, in fact if he were here at this moment in time then he’d do the job himself,” he sneers.

Hal’s eyes slowly widen. “You are truly insane. You do this and you will not walk out of this house alive,” he breathes. Xavier’s eyes gleam as he stares back at him.

“You forget, I command this town Hal not Wyndam, the vampires here will do as I say!” he retorts.

Hal shakes his head. “The vampires will do what Mr Snow says and once he finds out what you have done he will hunt you down and kill you himself without guile or remorse.”

Xavier chuckles. “Times are changing Hal and you have to choose which side you’re on. This town will be the first, others will follow and eventually Snow himself will be under threat.” He grins. Hal stares at Wyndam, at his impassive expression. He looks to Xavier once again and he smiles.

“If I do this...what will happen to me?”

“Nothing. You will be taken care of and protected. We are a small but loyal circle but we take care of our own. You will be richly rewarded of course.” He sees how he looks back at Wyndam and he sees the indecision in his eyes. “As of right now you’re under the control of this tyrant. You will be treated worse than vermin. With us you will be treated like a prince.”  He watches how Hal goes still, a calculating gleam in his eyes and he slowly smiles in triumph.  Hal returns his attention to Wyndam once again.

“And what about our conversation of earlier?” he asks as the two vampires stare at each other.

“It is completely forgotten. The slate is wiped clean,” Xavier assures him.

Hal takes a deep shaky breath and then gives a nervous little laugh.

“What you’re suggesting is treason and goes against all that is held dear to our existence. We will be hunted to the ends of the earth by his acolytes.” He can’t tear his eyes away from Wyndam’s. They burn brightly, challenging him but he doesn’t reply. He does not look afraid. Slowly Hal smiles and his eyes flick up to Xavier’s face. “But then I have never been any good at doing what I’m supposed to. And I am particularly good at hiding when I need to.” He lowers his sword to the floor and slowly he moves closer to the two men. His gaze is clear and steady as he holds out a hand.

“Are you sure that you want to do this?” Xavier asks. Hal looks back at Wyndam. The room is in absolute silence.

“As you have said, times are changing my Lord Xavier and I need to make my decision,” Hal answers calmly. Wyndam watches him, his gaze vivid. Hal feels the stake being placed in his hand and he curls his fingers around its girth, testing its weight. He lifts it and presses the tip against Wyndam’s heart. Nobody moves, nobody dares to breathe.

“I’m sorry my Lord,” he whispers. He grips the stake tightly then turns and swiftly drives it into Xavier’s chest. He watches how his eyes widen with shock and pain. “But I’ve already chosen my side,” he tells him and watches grimly as he fades and collapses into dust. Then he turns to look back at Wyndam who brushes the dust of Xavier from the front of his doublet. He comes to stand beside Hal and together they look at the pile of clothing at their feet for a moment. Hal looks at Wyndam to see him observing him.

“Did you ever doubt my decision?” Hal asks. Wyndam inclines his head slightly.

“I saw how you weighed the situation up, thought about your choices and the consequences of them. You don’t trust anyone Hal but I am glad that you chose to trust me more than you would trust Xavier.”

“I don’t know Xavier.”

“And in truth Hal, you don’t know me either but you made the right decision.” He pauses delicately before he looks once more at Hal. “Your reaction to Xavier was extreme Hal, perhaps reminiscent of how you despatched of your maker?”

He waits.

* * *

 

Maria hurries down to the kitchen, one of the kitchen maids at her heels. She squashes down the emerging panic at the information the young red haired girl had given her. Edgar was being held hostage by a guest. What on earth was going on, she would rip the perpetrator limb from limb.

She’s slightly out of breath as she halts at the entrance to the kitchen and she sees Edgar and Hal seated at the trestle. Hal has his back to her, Wyndam is sipping from a goblet, his eyes on his face, listening intently to whatever it is Hal is saying. He catches sight of her and their eyes meet for a moment. Hal turns in his seat and upon seeing her, he stands up, following Wyndam to the entrance. Maria’s eyes are wide.

“What on earth has been going on? You were being held hostage? By whom?” Her voice is thick with outrage. Wyndam smiles calmly at her.

“It was by Xavier… and the matter has been resolved, there’s no need to upset yourself further,” he placates. He sees the glimmer of temper in her green eyes.

“Xavier? How dare he? I have a good mind to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!” she snarls and Wyndam smile remains at her loyalty. He reaches out and touches her arm.

“As I said, the matter has been resolved.” He glances at Hal and it’s then that Maria sees the grainy dust that is still sprinkled here and there across the shoulders of his doublet.

“Very well,” she acquiesces and sees how Wyndam stares at her and her eyes narrow in suspicion.

“What are you thinking about?”

His smile widens.

“All in good time my dear. All in good time.”

* * *

 

It is later in the day and the sun is setting. Wyndam emerges from the house into the large gardens, towards Maria who is seated alone on a solitary stone bench. Their departure to England has been delayed by a day as Wyndam sends letters to Snow and other contacts warning them of a possible rebellion in their midst and also his suggestions for Xavier’s successor. He hopes that Mr Snow will approve of his suggestion.  He knows that he does.

Maria watches him approach. “You were supposed to be setting sail today,” she tells him once he’s within hearing distance. She watches as he lowers himself down on the bench beside her. He looks in the direction of the harbour and he smiles to himself.

“If Xavier hadn’t decided to mount his idiotic rebellion then we would be. We leave tomorrow instead, another day doesn’t matter.”

“I can imagine Hal approved of the delay,” she quips and he turns his head and he looks at her. For a little while he doesn’t speak and she frowns.

“You’re doing it again,” she reminds him and he widens his eyes slightly.

“What is it do you think I’m doing my dear?” he enquires and she rolls her eyes.

“You’re plotting something. I recognise that look, when an idea all of a sudden comes to you, the answer to all your prayers. You’re doing it now and it’s making me nervous,” she informs him and he chuckles.

“You know me well my love. Yes I am plotting and would you be surprised if I said that it involved you?”  He watches as she shakes her head.

“Not in the slightest. So what are you planning?”

He turns more fully in her direction. “I’ve decided that you should be Xavier’s replacement. I’ve written to Mr Snow to announce it,” he tells her and watches her eyes round in shock.

“Me?” she breathes.

He regards her calmly. “Yes, you. Why not? You would be perfect for the position. You have age, cunning, you are ruthless when you have to be and possess sagacity and understanding when the situation requires it. Most importantly you are unswerving in your loyalty to me and to Mr Snow.”

“Would Snow agree to my appointment, to be in charge of this town? Would the other council leaders?” she whispers.

“They will do whatever they are told to do and Snow trusts my judgement,” he assures her. He sees how she takes it all in, thinks about the possibilities.

“Imagine the prospects Maria, the power you will possess. I’m just across the sea should you ever need my opinion on any matters, which you won’t. You will watch the port and report to either myself or Snow on any happenings. You will be perfect, you’ll have a court to worship you as the queen that you should be.” He touches her face and his smile grows gentle. “And you will have my everlasting respect and undying admiration.” He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss on her forehead. The tenderness of the embrace makes her blink. He watches her for a little while and sees the surprise begin to wear off and instead that calculating glint that he’s very familiar with. Slowly and knowingly he smiles.

“Though you don’t need to, think on it a little while,” he whispers and she stares steadily at him. He slowly rises to his feet and he holds out an arm.

“Walk with me awhile?” he invites and she rises to her feet and slides her hand through his arm, her hand resting on the crook of his elbow. They begin to walk. The evening is pleasant, the heat of the day easing off though the air still heavy in its wake.

“You seem sure that I will accept this position,” she begins and he glances at her.

“Have I misjudged you after how many years? I don’t think that I have but I have been warned countless times of a woman’s fickle nature.” He laughs and pretends to wince as she pokes him in his ribs with the fingers of her other hand. He looks at her as he hears her sigh.

“You’re right as you always are. I do want it; it’s the chance of a lifetime for someone like me.”

Wyndam pauses and he looks at her. “You have earned it and I do not reward just anyone for loyal behaviour. If you’re worried about people not falling into line, then I can help but somehow I don’t believe that will be a problem. You are perfect for the job; you know it so seize it.” He sees the faint smile that crosses her face and he knows that he has her. They continue to walk again and a companionable silence drops between them for a moment or two.

“You and Hal seemed deep in conversation earlier this morning,” Maria comments as they walk past trees and shrubs and rose bushes heavy with blooms, their scent thick on the still air. She sees how he glances at her.

“We were. I think Hal finally decided to trust me just a little bit. We had the most interesting conversation about his life in London before he was turned.”

 

 

 


	20. Chapter Twenty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal's life before he was turned. 
> 
> We know very little about Hal's human life prior to recruitment apart from the little he shared in his prequel. This is my interpretation.

**Chapter Twenty.**

**_Early Sixteenth Century…prior to recruitment._ **

The scent of blood is heavy in the already dank air.

Henry Yorke pushes his way into the small room, ignoring the remarks of the others, that he shouldn’t be present, that this was women’s work. He ignores their hisses of outrage as he pushes his way to the bedside.

He looks down at the woman who remains unnaturally still and ignores the gore-stained sheets that she lies upon. Sweat coats her grey skin. He kneels down by the bed and reaches for one hand, sliding work roughened fingers through long slender ones and he holds on tight. Her skin is hot to the touch. Her breath rasps loudly in her chest.

“I’m here Anne, I’m here,” he whispers. He ignores the pitying looks of the other people present in the room and instead concentrates on her face. He’s vaguely aware of someone standing across from him and he’s saying something. He can barely hear the words that he’s whispering but as he lifts his head and looks at him, he realises that he’s murmuring a prayer. He watches him for a moment and recognises Matthew, a regular, once a priest unable to resist the sins of carnal knowledge and ale that had cost him his holy calling. No ordained priest will willingly set foot in this place for a matter such as this though plenty of them will for other more base purposes. He swallows against the hypocrisy but he’s strangely touched by Matthew’s kindness and he looks back at Anne. This isn’t the first time he’s been in this position, holding onto the hand of a dying whore. With his other hand he strokes her forehead with surprising gentleness, brushing the damp straggling hairs back. He sees how her head moves towards him, her eyes rolling between almost closed lids. Her pale cracked lips move and he leans closer to her, attempting to hear what it is she wishes to confess. His heart hammers in his breast. He hopes to hear the truth of his birth. She’s the last one he thinks. But he can’t hear what it is she wants to say. As he lifts his head to look at her face once again, he sees her expression change, slacken and he knows then that she is gone, her spirit flying free somewhere better than this place. He hears the final expulsion of air and her fingers go lax in his. He feels grief rise inside of him, his eyes begin to prickle and burn. Carefully he lets go of her hand, placing it carefully on top of the sheet. He can’t speak. He watches as Matthew steps forward, moving closer to Anne as he sketches the sign of the cross in the air. Old habits die hard it would seem.

“Hal.” He ignores her at first as he swallows against the lump in his throat. He slowly gets to his feet, still staring down at Anne with burning eyes. He turns when he feels fingers dig into the skin above his elbow and he sees Lizzie there. Her blue eyes are hard, practical.

“You should not be here. If Edmund catches you…”

“I don’t care about Edmund,” Hal grinds out and he hears her sigh.

“I know you don’t but you still should not be here. You have to leave.” She pulls on his arm, intent on dragging him out but he digs his heels in and watches as the other girls begin to wrap the corpse in the soiled sheets, ready for disposal.

Only yesterday he’d run an errand for her at Lizzie’s behest, to visit Mistress Dorothy with the instructions to deliver a message and wait. He’d done so, standing in the street, his arms folded and his shoulders hunched as she’d disappeared back into her property and reappear a short while later with a small vial containing a dark brackish looking liquid. Hal didn’t enquire what it was, he already knew and no further words were necessary. He’d delivered the vial back to Lizzie and received a penny for his trouble.

Anne had taken the contents of the vial and waited for nature to take its course. How many times has he run similar errands for the others? This isn’t the first time such a thing has happened and it will not be the last. He remembers the look of relief on Anne’s face as Lizzie had given her the vial. She’d thought all of her problems were solved. He turns his head towards the bed again and feels grief swell anew.

She was the last one, the last of the six. The last one who could tell him his mother’s name, perhaps she’d been his mother. He doesn’t know and now he supposes he never will. The others are all too young; Anne was the last one of the older ones, the ones he’s remembered working here for as long as he can remember. He has grown up here, amidst the whores and the patrons and Edmund.

“Come along Hal.” He turns his head in Lizzie’s direction and her eyes are softer now, more sympathetic. “I suppose you’ve been working all the hours as usual and you won’t have eaten.” She smiles up at him and she slides an arm through his as they leave the cramped room. He offers a weak sort of smile. Food is the last thing on his mind but she is right, he hasn’t eaten and grave digging is arduous back breaking work.

The sweating sickness is making further inroads of the population of London, claiming poor and rich folk alike. He’s been awake since before sunrise, earning a pittance, digging into the soft rain soaked mud and as a result he’s filthy as well as exhausted. Then one of the girls had found him and relayed Lizzie’s urgent message to him that Anne was dangerously ill, most likely dying. Hal looks down at his hands, at the dirt grained into his skin, beneath already ragged fingernails. He glances at Lizzie and raises them.

“I need to…” he tells her and she nods in understanding.

* * *

 

He appears in the kitchen a short while later and he’s cleaner. Lizzie is seated at one of the trestles and she’s put bread and cheese and ale out in front of her and she watches him approach her with a half-smile on her face. He wonders what she’s thinking about. Hal sits in front of the food and he looks down at it. For a moment he doesn’t move.

“There is nothing you could have done,” Lizzie informs him and he lifts his eyes from his plate and he looks at her.

“Perhaps not,” he agrees. Realistically he knows that she speaks the truth. It’s a risk that all the girls take when drinking down such potions as the ones created by Mistress Dorothy.

“She was further along than she either thought or was willing to admit. It was God’s will this happened,” Lizzie continues and Hal’s eyes narrow slightly.

“God’s will? It wasn’t Anne’s though was it?” he snaps at her and then he’s suddenly silent as if guessing that perhaps he’s spoken too harshly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs and looks down at his plate and he realises that his appetite has all but completely vanished.

“I understand Hal, she was the last one,” she replies in a soft voice and he swallows against the sudden thick lump in his throat, feeling traitorous tears rise and swell in his eyes. He takes a breath and wipes them away. He glances at her, a quick movement before reaching for a chunk of bread. He’s known Lizzie since childhood; she’s always treated him with a modicum of kindness and care. This place doesn’t have a _de facto_ madam like the other places but she’s the one the other girls turn to, talk to when they have a problem. She can be as hard as nails one moment and as soft as goose down the next.

“That I know of,” he mutters before he begins to eat.

“How old are you now Hal?” Lizzie asks after watching him eat for a moment or two. He lifts his eyes to her face once again and frowns slightly as he chews. He shrugs his shoulders in a wholly restless manner as he swallows down his bread.

“I don’t know, sixteen, seventeen perhaps,” he answers. Lizzie regards him. He’s a tall boy, thin and narrow with slowly widening shoulders, thick bark brown hair and curious greenish bronze eyes. She’s seen the younger girls cast him more than a first look but he’s never shown an interest in any of them, not even mild curiosity natural to any blossoming young man.

“Why?” he enquires curiously and watches Lizzie sit forwards.

“You’re old enough to be making your own way in the world now aren’t you?” She watches how he looks at her, still with that slight frown wrinkling his brow.

“Where would I go? And how would you fair damsels cope without me nearby to run your errands and fetch and carry for you?” A mild teasing glint comes and goes in his eyes and she smiles softly at it. She still sees that shy young boy here and there but not as often as she used to and not so readily. He’s hardening, a protective shell surrounding him more and more as each day slides past. It’s to be expected, seeing what he does, going through what he has to.

“That’s the whole idea of there being a big wide world out there Hal, for you to go and see it for yourself,” she gently teases and his expression sobers up and he looks down at his plate again.

“Haven’t you forgotten Lizzie, I’m bastard born. No-one’s going to take on a son of a whore as any kind of apprentice. You need recommendations for that.”

“And you don’t have to seek an apprenticeship. You’re good at finding work, whether it’s digging ditches or graves or running errands for us. There’s more for you out there Hal, you just need to courage to go out and look, before this place gets its hooks in you any further.”

Hal quietly sighs. “I’m afraid that I’m already hopelessly trapped,” he confesses. Lizzie regards him and she is tempted to argue with him a little bit. She opens her mouth but something catches her attention and Hal notices her demeanour change. He pauses and looks over his shoulder and he sees Edmund in the entranceway.

“So this is where you’re both hiding is it? Both of you wastin’ valuable time an’ money,” he drawls as he slowly enters. Hal stops eating and slowly he gets to his feet and he turns to face him. He watches him approach. Edmund is tall but what was once muscle is slowly but surely turning to fat, judging by the size of the belly hanging over his belt and the jowls beginning to pouch around his jawline. His hair is a greasy shade of greying blond, the same for the beard that attempts to hide those rolls of emerging fat.

“Hal’s been working, he hasn’t had time to eat,” Lizzie responds as Edmund stops in front of them and he regards them both. Hal straightens his spine and stares straight back at him.  The atmosphere thickens with tension but Edmund is the first to break eye contact and he glances at Lizzie who stands behind Hal’s right shoulder.

“One of the girls is looking for you, you have a guest,” He informs her and then glances back at Hal. “And you…Nathaniel has expressed an interest in your company this evening,” he tacks on.

“I’m too tired,” Hal retorts as Edmund turns to walk away and he watches how he freezes for a moment before he turns back to look at him.

“I beg your pardon, what did you say?” he demands in a low voice. Hal stares at him.

“You heard me, I said I was tired. I’m going to finish my meal and then I plan to go to church to hear prayers for Anne’s soul and then I shall sleep. I’m exhausted.” Internally his heart is banging hard against his ribcage, a thin film of sweat coating his skin. Edmund does not like any kind of rebellion, especially open defiance from him. He sees how he frowns but he stands his ground nonetheless. Then Edmund laughs, a short humourless bark.

“You shall do no such thing. Nathaniel pays well and he is expecting only you.”

“And what do you plan to do to stop me?” Hal enquires bravely.

Edmund shakes his head. “This show of defiance is only serving to annoy me young Hal. Do as you are told, there’s a good boy,” he replies, his tone light but Hal hears the iron beneath it.

“And if I don’t?” Hal pauses when he feels Lizzie grab his upper arm in warning.

“Hal…” He glances at her and it’s at that moment that Edmund strikes out. His open hand hits the side of Hal’s face and he staggers beneath the force of the blow but he doesn’t fall down. Instead he staggers back against the trestle but stops himself from losing his balance. His head rings and he tastes the coppery flavour of blood inside of his mouth. He looks back at Edmund and he smiles, revealing blood stained teeth.

“Once upon a time you may have knocked me down old man, but no more,” he tells him. He straightens up. He is equal in height to Edmund now and he sees that realisation dawn.

“I’m tired and I wish to be left in peace,” he informs him and he sees Edmund’s hand rise again. He grabs it and wraps a hand around his wrist and stops it in mid motion. Surprise flares in the older man’s eyes.

“I’m not that pathetic little weakling that you took great pleasure in bullying anymore,” he whispers as he squeezes at the fragile bones. He feels the fight go out of him and he slowly releases his hold on him. Edmund doesn’t say another word as he turns and leaves. Hal watches him depart, still wary and still tense. Once he’s out of view, he exhales loudly. He turns to Lizzie who is staring at him with wide blue eyes.

“Where did that burst of courage come from?” she whispers. Hal stares at her and quickly shrugs.

“I have no idea, but it’s true, I’m not a child any longer,” he tells her. A soft smile briefly lights up her face.

“You have grown quite a lot over the last year and you’re starting to fill out across your shoulders somewhat. You’re not that scared skinny little thing of old,” she replies.

“Maybe that will work in my favour where Nathaniel is concerned,” he mutters.

* * *

 

He finishes his meal alone in the kitchen and he isn’t disturbed by another soul though he can hear the customers in the front rooms getting noisier and noisier as the evening progresses. He clears away his plate and his cup and heads off to his tiny room situated at the top of the building, closing his mind against any residual grief as he passes Anne’s room. The door is closed but it won’t be long until someone else occupies it and they begin to make money for Edmund.

His room is in the very eaves of the establishment. He has very little apart from a small chest that contains what very little he owns as well as a narrow bed that he’s already outgrown. Lizzie was right; he’s undergone a period of rapid growth over the last year though he doesn’t know about the filling out part. There is a single small window in the room, one that he can just about see out of but all that he can see is darkening sky and the silhouettes of other rooftops. He lights a single candle and its weak orange glow gives the room a somewhat cosy air. He pays it no real attention as he changes out of his work attire into a clean shirt and breeches. He carefully folds up his filthy clothing for the morning. He’ll be up especially early, before dawn most days. He turns and he thinks of the loose floorboard beside his bed. He thinks of the small amount of money has hidden there in a worn leather pouch, a penny here and a penny there carefully saved and hidden. One day he plans to retrieve it and disappear. His thoughts are interrupted by a knock on his door.

He opens it and sees Rosemary, one of the younger girls who work for Edmund, standing there. She looks him up and down, the appreciation blatant in her gaze.

“What do you want?” he asks when she doesn’t immediately speak.

“Edmund wants you to clear out Anne’s room,” she tells him. Hal frowns.

“Can’t someone else do it, I’m on my way out somewhere,” he answers sharply. Her eyes flick up to his face. Her answering smile is sly.

“He said you were goin’ to church. He also said that you ‘ave to clear out ‘er room first, then you can go,” she answers and he sighs in irritation.

“I’ll be there shortly,” he tells her and closes the door in her face.

* * *

 

His footsteps are slow and weary as he makes his way to Anne’s room. The door is closed and he stands in front of it for a moment and he stares at it. She was perhaps one of the last ones to work here that he can recall from his childhood. Over the years he has dealt with their deaths; be it from illness, violence or like Anne, bleeding to death from a brought upon miscarriage. There is also Lizzie; he remembers her arrival as a young boy, her lively blue eyes and her bright smile. She was popular with the clientele then and she’s just as popular now.

The room is dark when he enters. Fortunately he’s familiar with the layout of the room as he moves across towards the bed. He can do this quickly and be on his way. He hears the shuffle of feet and as he turns in its direction, he sees the door being slammed shut and the room is plunged into deep shadows.

He can’t see anything clearly but feels hands grab his arms and force them behind his back. His shoulder joints heave in pain. He hears the striking of a match and a weak light flickers to life. Quickly his eyes adjust and he watches Edmund approach him, the lit candle in his hand. Hal’s mouth goes dry and he stares at him, recognising that malevolent half smile on his face. Edmund wants him to be terrified. He wants him to cry and plead for mercy as he used to. He straightens his spine. He’s aware of two men at either side of him, holding him in place and as well as Edmund, another man stands guard in front of the closed door.

“Well little Henry, what do we have here?” Edmund breathes. Hal tries to wrench free from his wardens’ grasp but they hold him fast.

Edmund smile widens. “That was quite the show of defiance earlier this evening wasn’t it? Took me a little bit by surprise.” He moves in front of Hal and places the candle on the small table beside the bed. He straightens and looks at him.

“I do not like to be defied little man, least of all by the likes of you,” he tells him.

“And yet it takes three men to help you get your message across,” Hal hisses back at him, struggling again. This time Edmund laughs, revealing yellowing rotten teeth. Without warning, he ploughs one large fist into Hal’s belly. The air rushes from Hal’s lungs and for a moment he can’t breathe. His legs buckle and he is bent over in pain. Then he is pulled upright again, a hand in his hair to keep him still and steady.

“Oh these three aren’t here for me Hal, they’re here for you. They’re here to teach you a lesson, for you to remember and to respect your betters. I’ll get my money’s worth tonight.” He continues to grin when he sees how Hal’s eyes widen, how he shakes his head. He begins to struggle again but it’s no use. The hold on him is tight and inescapable.

Edmund takes a step closer to him and Hal gets a lungful of warm fetid sweat and body odour.

“Perhaps I shoulda drowned you like your idiot mother wanted me to. She begged me y’know. She ‘ad no use for you, tried to get rid of ya but you clung to her insides like a blasted leech.” He stares into his eyes, his smile fading away.

“Then why didn’t you?” Hal snarls back at him. Edmund shrugs and takes another step towards him.

“I don’t know, I often ask myself that very same question. Why didn’t I? P’rhaps I realised that one day I’d find ways of makin’ sure you earned your keep an’ it seems I was right about that. Nathaniel seems to think so for certain.”  He reaches out and grabs him by the front of his throat and he squeezes. He listens to Hal choke, digging his fingers into pale skin just that little bit tighter, watching the skin begin to change colour.

“You need to be kept under firmer control my lad, you need to remember what you are, what you always will be,” His eyes scan his face and as he releases his grip on his throat, he hears Hal’s loud ragged intake of breath. He chuckles.

“You’re nothin’ Hal. You will always _be_ nothin’. And you’re mine to control, to do what I want with. You know what’ll happen if you misbehave, who I can hurt.” He stares at him. “This could even be your new room if you play your cards right an’ keep me happy. You’re young; you could make me a lot o’ money.” He takes another step away from him and he looks at the two men at either side of Hal before returning his attention to him.

“Don’t defy me again.”

Hal glares at him, feeling the anger rise inside of him, to do with battle with the fear as well as the hatred. Edmund’s smile grows ever wider, scenting his victim’s capitulation. He pats his cheek, ignoring how Hal cringes away from his touch.

“There’s a good boy,” he whispers.


	21. Chapter Twenty One.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lizzie comes to Hal's aid.

**Chapter Twenty One.**

Lizzie knows that Hal keeps out of Edmund’s way where possible but she hasn’t seen him at all this morning. His room is empty and at first she thinks that perhaps he’s left before dawn, it’s not the first time he’s done such a thing but she sees his work clothes folded on his chest and she frowns. He was supposed to be going to church to hear prayers for Anne’s soul last night and then come back and sleep. This looks as though he hasn’t been back. Has he decided to just leave? Would he leave without saying goodbye to her?

She sees the door to Anne’s room isn’t fully closed and she goes to see why.

* * *

 

He’s lying face down on the bed and he isn’t moving. The bed linen is heavily stained with blood and other fluids. She calls his name but he doesn’t respond and as she climbs onto the bed and rolls him onto his back, she sees why.

His face is a mess; he’s bruised and bloody, one eye is purple and swollen shut. The bruises patch his entire body and he has been used most brutally. She calls his name and she sees his eyes roll beneath the lids so he can hear her, he's still alive though his breathing is so light that she doesn’t know for how much longer.

Her heart clenches in her chest as she looks down at his battered form.

“What’s going on? What are you doing in here?” Lizzie turns her head when she hears another voice. She sees one of the other girls, one of the newer ones, Margery.

“I need you to help me,” she tells her and watches how she slowly enters the room. Her eyes widen when she sees Hal lying still on the bed. She looks to Lizzie.

“Is he…”

“No but he soon will be if we don’t get him out of this room!” Lizzie retorts. Margery looks back at Hal.

“How?” she breathes and Lizzie rolls her eyes.

“How do you think? We carry him. You can grab his legs and make sure the sheet is fastened properly around him.” She looks around on the floor and sees his breeches, shoes and what’s left of a linen shirt, a shade of dirty white. She sighs raggedly before she looks back at the younger girl.

“Do not tarry!” she hisses at her.

* * *

 

He’s heavy and unwieldy but Lizzie is made of sterner stuff as she wraps the sheet tightly around his body. She tries to ignore the blood and the smell and she tries to quench the worry that festers inside of her. Between them they get him out of that room and up to his own. She listens to Margery’s bellyaching and complaining as they make their trip and would have boxed her ears if she had her hands free.

Hal doesn’t react as they lower him onto his bed. Lizzie straightens the bedding around him for a moment and then turns to look up at Margery who stands beside the door, a fearful expression on her young face.

“What’s the matter now?” Lizzie snaps at her and Margery’s eyes flick her way.

“He’s going to die,” she whispers. Lizzie rises to her feet and turns to look at her.

“He is not going to die do you hear me? I will not listen to such idle chatter!” she snaps at her but Margery doesn’t look any calmer.

“I’ve seen such an expression on a face as one who is close to death’s door and he has such an expression. Mark my words, the only way he’s leaving this room is in a shroud,” she tells her. Lizzie loses patience, slapping the girls sharply across her face.

“You’ll be the one wearing the shroud if you don’t cease your idiotic babblings. Go and get me some hot water and some clean rags and be quick about it. If anyone questions you, tell them that I have sent you on an important errand. Do not tarry. If I have to look for you, you will be in the worst trouble imaginable, do you understand me?” Margery rapidly nods, blinking back tears, holding a hand over her stinging cheek.

“Go,” she instructs and turns back to Hal.

“Beasts,” she mutters beneath her breath as her eyes take in his bruises, the swelling and other injuries. He could have broken bones, injuries inside of his body. She’d scolded Margery for saying he could die but deep inside of her she worries whether he actually will or not.

* * *

 

Margery returns carrying a large bowl of water which she places on the chest beside Hal’s bed. She places the clean rags Lizzie requested beside it and she looks back to Hal. Lizzie frowns at her.

“If you are going to stand there and stare at him then you’d best leave me be. I do not have time to mollycoddle you,” she snaps at her. Margery stiffens and looks back at her.

“Edmund is looking for you,” she whispers.

“I know why and he can come and look for me in that case,” she retorts. She has plenty that she wishes to say to him.

She’s left alone in the poky little room. She ignores the chill of it as she looks down at Hal. He’s so still and so far away. She remembers the fair headed little lad she met when she first arrived at the establishment. Even then his eyes were so sad, he seemed even then aware of his lack of importance. His smiles were rare and given to very few but she’s fortunate to be one of the recipients. Her eyes take in the bruises and the swelling. He has been beaten within an inch of his life. She sees the dried blood on his skin, matting his already untidy hair. She’s worried that he will not recover from this and if that happens, then what?

She turns to the bowl of water on the chest and the clean rags discarded beside it.

He doesn’t move a muscle as she slowly, carefully washes him down and she swallows against the thick lump growing in her throat at the sight of the blood stained murky water left behind in the bowl. She kneels by his bedside and carefully but diligently washes the blood out of his hair, feeling for any injuries beneath his scalp. They went too far this time, whoever is responsible for this was a hairs breadth away from committing murder. Her vision blurs with uncharacteristic tears and she swipes them away with the back of one hand. She looks down at Hal. This boy, this young boy should not have to suffer this way. He has no reason to remain here, Anne is dead now and she was the last of the six who Edmund had hinted could be his mother. Lizzie knew four of them, Anne, Cecily, Ellen and Sybil. The other two had perished before her arrival here. She supposes he’s been waiting for some kind of recognition and acceptance from one of them and it hasn’t happened and now it never will.

_The hands that touch me are kind hands. The usual ones are far more cruel and brutal. Those fingers nip and scratch, those hands beat and punch and slap. I quickly become used to that first sharp shock of pain, I became used to it from a very early age and I learned, where possible, how to avoid but sometimes I don’t see the blow come until it’s far too late. It’s useless to cry, they don’t care. They just want what they’ve paid for and don’t care how they achieve it. After a time I close myself off from it._

_The first time they put something in a mug of ale to make me more…agreeable to the idea. Edmund whispered threats, what he’d do if I didn’t do as he said, if I wasn’t a good boy, who he’d hurt. I remember the floor rising and falling beneath my feet like a ship at full sail. I remember my head feeling as though it was overstuffed with feathers, my tongue becoming thick and useless._

_I remember the last time, when I wouldn’t drink the wine they’d provided me with. How Edmund pinched my nose so I’d open my mouth to breathe. How he poured that tainted wine down my throat, laughing as I coughed and choked against it, putting his hand over my mouth so that I’d swallow it down. After that I recognised the dull heavy feeling in my head. And what they all did to me._

_No…I won’t think about that now. It hurts. It’s scary, too much. Instead I think about the kind, comforting hands that touch my skin. I can hear her voice, talking to me quietly, like I am a docile child. Doesn’t she know that I am a child no longer? Edmund has seen to that._

* * *

 

Lizzie carries the bowl and soiled rags down to the kitchen and her thoughts are busy with Hal, of the thick purple and blue bruises that mark his pale skin. He’s had some beatings but this has to be one of the worst. She’d been as gentle as possible as she’d washed him and slipped on a pair of breeches she’d discovered in his bedside chest but she’d seen the twist of pain that crossed his face.

“What are you doin’?” Lizzie pauses when she hears Edmund’s voice. She carefully places the bowl and the rags on the trestle and she turns and looks at him. He walks towards her and his eyes go to the bowl.

“What’s that?” But she can see by his expression that he already knows. Lizzie straightens her spine and she looks at him.

“I’m cleaning up your mess Edmund. Now I don’t know who you roped into helping you teach young Hal a lesson yesterday evening and I don’t want to know because if I did then I’d be tempted to report them for their acts and have them thrown in the Clink,” she begins and she watches how Edmund’s eyes narrow.

“He needed….”

“To be taught a lesson because he stood up to you? How many of them were there Edmund? Against him for God’s sake there’s hardly any flesh on his bones to begin with. Have you seen him recently?  Did you see him after what they did to him? He is barely clinging to life!” she hisses at him, feeling the ire begin to burn brighter.

Edmund grabs her upper arm and squeezes it tightly.

“It is not your place to be playing nurse maid to that brat!” he hisses, pushing his face into hers. Lizzie wrenches her arm free.

“Oh I know, my place is on my back, keeping your customers happy but _someone_ has to take care of the boy and for now that person is me. You have plenty of girls to keep you and your establishment happy. You can do without me for one night,” she hisses at him.

“That is not your decision to make,” he snaps back but she sees how pale he has become.

“Is it not? _You_ may be the one in charge here Edmund but the girls listen to _me_. If I tell them to refuse to work then they will and you know it. You can beat me if you want to but I don’t think your most loyal of customers would appreciate seeing my skin marked with bruises, do you?” she retorts sharply. They stare at each other for a tense moment or two.

“One night,” he concedes. “I’m sure your visitors will be just as happy with Rosemary this one time,” he jabs. Lizzie offers him a narrow cold smile.

“Perhaps they will be. Now I need to get back to Hal and I do not wish to be interrupted,” She watches how he then grins at her.

“I’m surprised you haven’t helped him pop his cherry before now,” he leers. She picks up the bowl and sends him a look over her shoulder.

“How do you know I already haven’t?” she replies and walks away.

* * *

 

Lizzie lights candles in his room and she makes herself comfortable on the stool beside Hal’s bed. She draws her shawl closer around her body to guard against the chill in the room.

She didn’t realise she’d fallen asleep. A noise jolts her awake and she lifts her head from her chest and she blinks. Shadows are encroaching and she realises that the candles have almost burned down to nubs. She turns her attention back to the bed and she sees that the sheet covering him has been pushed down around his ankles. She gets to her feet and leans across to pull it back over him. He’s not so still now; a weak restlessness now overtakes him. She pulls the rough sheet up to his chest and sees the faint glimmer of sweat that coats his skin. She frowns and places the back of one hand against his forehead, ignoring how he seems to flinch away from it. He feels warm. He’s been digging grave pits recently and she wonders whether he’s caught the sweating sickness that seems to be making inroads into the population. Is it that infectious? Her experience with the disease is limited and she swallows against the brief chill of fear. She looks back at his face and she takes in his pallor and the dusty greyish shadows painted beneath both of his eyes. Could he have brought that particular pestilence in here?

_Heat overtakes me, it covers me in its suffocating blanket and I try to push it away. I’ve battled against the waves of pain that have threatened to overwhelm my body; it has taken everything that I possess not to cry out with the agony of it but this heat is almost more than I can withstand. I hear laughter, shrill and demonic. It makes my mouth dry with terror. I can feel their sharp claws scraping against my skin; I can hear their voices, low, growling whispering their curses and epithets in my ear. I don’t want to listen to any of it. I don’t want to hear their promises for me. I want peace, I want to sleep and I want this pain to end. No more. No more._

_Those voices take on a more human shape, I recognise the faces and I feel the panic begin to rise. I have to get away from them. I need to be somewhere safe. I try to run but I feel their hands grabbing me, fingers poking into me. I scream out my terror. No more, please God no more._

Hal seems to be trapped in a nightmare of some sort. She watches as he fights against imaginary demons, his face contorted in terror and the effort of it makes him almost fall out of his pitiful bed. She reaches across the bed and tries to put her arms around him but that seems to make him worse and her heart jumps at the low scream she hears. She climbs onto the bed and she tightens her hold on him. His skin is fiery hot; she can feel it burning through her own clothing.

“Hal…hush now,” she whispers. She holds onto him, not letting go until the thrashing ceases. He becomes still again, the fight flowing out of him, his muscles becoming lax and compliant.

Lizzie stays on the bed beside him. Her heart continues to pound for a moment or two and after a while she carefully rolls him onto his back. He’s much calmer now and that begins to worry her. She touches him his face and calls his name but as has been the habit of the last few hours, he does not respond to her.

_Everything begins to shrink away from me, into a tiny safe little speck. The outside world fades and blessed darkness encroaches._

_They can’t hurt me in here._

* * *

 

“Hal?” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from a long distance away, very faint at first. It’s almost like from a dream. He slowly turns his head towards it. He should recognise it, he’s sure he’s heard it before but it’s faint, like the drift of a breeze.

“Open your eyes for me Hal,” the voice commands and he frowns slightly. It’s a little closer now, a little louder. He feels a hand touch his shoulder and he tries to cringe away from it. No more. He wants to tell them that he’s tired now. He’s so tired but the hand is small and feels warm against his skin.

“Please Hal, you must open your eyes,” the same voice now begs. She sounds worried and he tries but his eyes feel like they’re weighted down. He gives a quiet moan of defeat. The hand on his shoulder grows tighter, more insistent.

“Hal get up! For God’s sake you must get up because if you don’t then you never will!” the same voice hisses.

He becomes aware of the pain then. It floods through his body in unrelenting waves. Every single part of him hurts. He can’t answer or obey, he’s beyond speech.  

“You have to get up, you have to. You’re scaring me now Hal.” Her voice sounds desperate and he feels her haul him across the mattress. She’s surprisingly strong. Finally, finally his eyes begin to open and it’s then he realises that he can only see out of one of them, the other is swollen shut. His head hurts; it pounds enough to make his teeth rattle. He sees the blurred face that comes into his line of vision and he belatedly realises that the voice he’s been hearing is Lizzie’s.

“Leave…me…be.” His voice is thick, low and rough.

“I will not. You have to try and sit up,” she instructs.

“Can’t,” he whispers back.

“Then you will die,” she hisses vehemently at him. He feels the blackness creeping back in from the edge of his vision. It feels warm, comforting and he wants to welcome it.

“Then I die,” he whispers and gives himself up to it.

“Hal!” she snaps at him and she gives him a little shake. “ _Hal_!” She feels tears threaten and she swallows them down.

“You are not the type to just give up Hal Yorke. I remember that little boy who was fascinated by the letters that made your name. You are not meant to die in this bed forgotten. You are meant to leave this behind and make your own way in this world no matter what anyone has claimed will happen to you. Do not prove them right!” Her voice trembles with the injustice that she feels. Watching him grow up in this place, she has held onto that belief that while the stink of this place clings to him; it will not be the definition of him.

She feels a faint shiver tremble through him and she wraps both arms around him and she pulls him up against him and she holds him tightly against her and she gently rocks him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	22. Chapter Twenty Two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal battles to survive.

**Chapter Twenty Two.**

He can hear something.

It sounds dull and far away as he struggles to break out of the bonds of whatever it is that is holding him captive. As his senses return to him, it becomes clearer and he realises that what he can hear is the slow steady thump of a heartbeat.

Slowly his eyes open, or at least one eye does. The other remains stubbornly closed. Then he becomes aware of the fact that he isn’t alone in his bed. He feels the arms clasped around him, holding him safely and it feels strange. Fear crawls inside of him and his own heartbeat skitters in his chest. He lifts his head slightly and he sees Lizzie’s face a bare inch away from his own. Her eyes are closed, her breathing slow and regular in sleep. He stares at her through his one good eye and he wonders what she’s doing here. He watches as she stirs and gradually her eyes slip open and for a second she stares uncomprehendingly at him, a faint smile tilting the corners of her mouth before memory crashes in and the sleepy confusion is replaced by something sharper, more concerned. Her blue eyes fix on his face.

“Hal,” she whispers and she sits up. She wipes her hands over her face. “I did not mean to fall asleep like that, some guardian I am.” She turns her head and regards him. He hasn’t moved, he’s still staring at her in mild confusion. She gets off his bed and watches how she fusses about herself, straightening her gown and shawl. She turns back to him. He still hasn’t moved. His face is not as swollen as it had been the day before but still patchworked with ugly purple bruises. His one good eye watches her. She lowers herself down onto the side of his bed.

“Oh my boy,” she breathes. The swollen lid is black and purple; the bruise that marks the skin beneath his eye bleeds over his cheekbone. The skin is split above his eyebrow, the blood dried black. Hal doesn’t reply.

“You must be thirsty, would you like something to drink?” she asks. He remains silent and she watches his expression dull, the light slowly being extinguished. She looks down at him and watches as sleep claims him.

* * *

 

The next time he surfaces, he sees her beside his bed. She must have left him at some point and returned because she’s in a different gown and her hair is tidy once more. There’s something in her lap which is taking up her full attention. After a moment she looks up at him and her eyes widen when she sees him watching her. She puts whatever it is she’s been busy with to one side and she smiles at him.

“Welcome back,” she murmurs and without enquiring as to whether he wants any, she turns to the chest by his bed and he hears her pour something into a cup. She turns back to him.

“How about a little sip of wine?” she holds the cup aloft a little and a frown appears at how his expression changes, the fear that she sees ripple across his face.

“What’s the matter?” Then comprehension dawns and she looks down at the cup in horror. “Oh no, Hal…look,” she takes a sip. “It’s perfectly safe you must believe me,” she reassures him.

She sits on the side of his bed again and carefully slips a supportive arm across his shoulders and slowly she lifts him, holding the cup to his lips with her other hand. She hears his hissed gasp of pain. He takes a sip and slowly swallows, choking slightly. She lowers him back against the bolster with the same amount of tenderness she’d show a newborn baby. She sits back down onto the side of his bed and she looks at him.

“Do you think you can move?” she asks quietly. Her eyes slide over his frame shrouded by the extra sheets and blankets she has managed to salvage for him. She can imagine that this room can be icy cold in the depths of winter.

“I don’t…want you…here.” His voice is hesitant and rough and she looks back at his face.

“Well that is just unfortunate young man because I’m not going anywhere for now. Someone has to take care of you,” she informs him.

“I don’t…need your…care. I’m not a…child.” Each word is slurred, laborious, as if it exhausts him to speak. She stares at him.

“No, that’s true. You aren’t a child but two nights ago you were almost beaten to death. You were brought down by a vicious old bastard who did not like the thought of you having thoughts and opinions of your own. Yesterday I thought that you were going to die Hal. They almost succeeded in doing that to you.”

She frowns very slightly.

“You think that nobody cares enough about you in this establishment Hal. You think that you’re tolerated and that perhaps you deserve everything that happens to you. I don’t want you to think that because I care Hal. I care about what happens to you,” she tells him. She takes a deep breath and she swallows against the lump that has formed in her throat. “You did not deserve what happened to you and I do not blame you for not trusting any of us ever again but if you need to place a little bit of trust in someone, I hope that it can be me.”

* * *

 

He’s alone. Lizzie left him a while ago with the claim of errands of her own to run but she has promised to look in on him again before nightfall. He can hear the raucous festivities downstairs, somewhat muffled by the fact that his room is at the very top of the building. He can’t sleep. He has tried but each time he tries, pictures, horrible pictures of that night flash brightly into his mind. It makes his stomach churn threateningly; his body ache in renewed memory.

He has to get out of this bed and on to his feet. Slowly he kicks back the bed linen and that simple task tires him out and he pauses to catch his breath. He waits for a moment and then tries to sit up.

The pain that rips through him robs him of the ability to breathe. He feels his head begin to spin and sweat pop out on chilled skin but he keeps going, breathing hard by the time he is sitting on the side of the bed, his feet on the bare floor. His head throbs and he feels like he wants to vomit. His sides ache too much to take a deep breath. He looks down and he sees the fist sized black and purple bruises that mar the skin across his belly and his ribs. He curls an arm across his stomach and he takes in his bruised and mangled hands. He looks up again.

Slowly he gets to his feet and the effort makes him grunt. Finally he is upright but the effort to get there has weakened his already vulnerable system and he sways drunkenly as his vision darkens around the edges and a buzzing sound fills his head. His knees buckle and he falls.

He hits the floor hard and the air expels noisily from his lungs. He lies absolutely still, stunned and doesn’t hear the door open or the sound of rushing footsteps.

“Hal!” The sound of Lizzie’s voice is a welcome relief.

“What have you been trying to do you silly boy?” she breathes and he feels her hands tuck under his arms and she helps him to sit up. He leans against the bedframe, panting against the renewed pain and he turns his head and he looks at her. She sits down on the floor beside him and the first thing that he notices is that she isn’t dressed for an evening of ‘entertainment’. She sees the expression on his face.

“I’ve already told you, I’m going to take care of you.”

“I’m not…a child,” he growls at her.

“And as I’ve already reminded you, I’m well aware of that fact but think back to when you were a little one and you were gripped with colds and fevers, who was it you called for eh?” she reminds him and watches as he looks away from her.

He looks back at her. “You were the only one…” 

“I looked after you then because I wanted to, like now. Because I want to,” she reminds him, sending him a quick smile.

“I’m sure Edmund appreciates his best girl acting as nursemaid for me,” he answers in a low voice.

“I don’t care what he thinks Hal,” she whispers back.

He stares at her.

“He could hurt you if you defy him,” he tells her.

She rolls her eyes. “He would not dare, like you claim, I’m his best girl. For now anyway though I am not getting any younger.” 

She gets to her feet, brushing dust from her skirts. She turns and she looks at him. “Let’s get you back into bed,” she tells him.

He shakes his head.“I want to be on my feet and walking,” he tells her. She places her hands on her hips as she regards him.

“Do you think you’re ready for that?” she asks, a mild frown on her face.

Hal looks up at her. “I have to be,” he tells her.

She sighs.

“Fair enough then let me help you. Allow me to be your crutch while you regain your balance. It’s the only way it will happen so don’t think to refuse me.” The tone of her voice brooks no arguments and Hal quietly sighs.

“I had forgotten how headstrong you can be sometimes,” he mutters and despite the situation, she smiles.

“And don’t you dare forget it young man, so what is it to be?” she asks, knowing fine well what his response will be.

“I’m too heavy, I’ll pull you down,” he informs her.

“I’ve been dealing with men of all shapes and sizes and weights since I was barely thirteen years of age Hal. I used to hold your hand when you were learning to walk as a young ‘un, if you pull me down then I shall just have to get back up again,” she retorts good-naturedly. “And, I’m stronger than I look,” she tacks on.

* * *

 

She crouches down beside him and she slides an arm across his back, underneath his shoulders and she braces herself for his weight.

“Are you ready?” she whispers. He nods rapidly. She sees the look of determination on his face.

“I am ready,” he whispers back.

“On the count of three then young man. One…two…”  On three, Hal begins to push himself to his feet and at the same time she braces herself and together they begin to stand up.  She keeps her arms around him and he holds tightly onto her as slowly they become upright. She looks up at him to see that despite his bruising, he’s turned an alarming shade of greenish white. He closes his good eye as he sways unsteadily.

“Do you need to sit down again?” she asks and he gives a quick shake of his head but he still holds tightly onto her.

“It will pass,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She watches him, seeing how he struggles to control himself. He is in a lot of pain, she can tell by how he clenches his jaw.

“We can try again tomorrow. I think you need to rest,” she tells him worriedly and he opens his eye and he looks at her.

“I will not give in. I must walk, I have to,” he hisses back at her.

“And perhaps tomorrow you can try again. You’re exhausted Hal,” she retorts. Hal slowly straightens, his left arm curling around his stomach.

“I must walk. You can help me or you can leave me be,” he tells her and she hears the iron in his voice. He always did have that damned streak of stubbornness inside of him.

“Then I will help you walk but afterwards you have to rest and regain your strength. I’ve brought you food, you must eat.” He looks at her. In truth he has very little appetite still but she has made the effort for him therefore he must at least try to eat something. He nods.

“After I walk,” he reminds her and she sighs loudly and impatiently.

* * *

 

She sees that every step that he takes hurts him. He tries not to show it but she can tell. The sight of his bruises, of his battered face still shocks her every time she looks at him. Despite herself she has to admire his courage. Other people on the receiving end of such a beating and worse would curl up in a corner and fade away into nothing but Hal is made of more than that. She takes heart in his determination, that what has happened to him does not seem be the end of him.  Two days ago she thought differently.

He’s breathing hard by the time they reach the small window. Lizzie smiles at him as he leans against the bare wall. Beads of sweat coat his skin.

“You’re doing well,” she tells him and he looks at her. The faintest of smiles crosses his face. He knows that he is. She waits until he slowly straightens once more and he turns. Without invitation, she slips her arm around his waist and feels the weight of his arm across her shoulders in response.

“Ready?” Hal just nods.

She helps him into bed, arranging the extra pillows around his upper back and shoulders, making sure he’s as comfortable as possible. She pulls the blankets up around his chest and watches how he puts his hands onto the coverlet. His hands are swollen and bruised too. She wonders if he was able to defend himself in any way or were these wounds deliberately made.

“I could get you something for the pain,” she offers, noticing how pale and pinched he looks. He glances up at her and he shakes his head. “It would make you more comfortable,” she tells him.

“It would make me soft in the head and I don’t want that,” he answers in a low voice.

She sits down on the side of his bed and reaches for the covered bowl on his bedside chest. She places the cloth that covered the bowl across his chest and picks up the spoon that she’d brought up and she sees his expression change.

“Lizzie…I…please, I can manage,” he tells her in a low embarrassed voice. Lizzie makes a point in looking at his damaged hands.

“You can barely straighten your fingers Hal so I somehow doubt it.” She stirs the stew she has brought up with her for him.

“In a day or so your hands will not feel like useless lumps of flesh and you’ll be able to do this by yourself as usual. Today you cannot.” She stares at him and she scoops up a small amount of the stew and holds it close to his face. He turns his head away and she lowers it slightly and sighs.

“Henry Yorke, are you prepared to starve yourself for a moment’s loss of dignity?” she reprimands and he looks back at her. Her gaze is steady upon his face.

“There is just you and I in this room and I do not plan to tell anyone of what passes between us this day. You need my assistance and I offer it willingly so please accept it.” She waits.

His mouth opens to accept the first spoonful.

* * *

 

“What happened….” she begins.

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” Hal retorts in a tight voice.

She looks at him. She takes a breath. “You didn’t deserve what happened to you Hal,” she tells him. He doesn’t look at her and a heavy silence falls for a moment or two.

“I hate him!” he hisses. Lizzie looks down at what is left of the stew and she stirs it idly with the spoon before returning her attention to him.

“Then why do you stay?” she asks him.

Slowly he turns his head and he regards her. “I have nowhere else to go,” he replies quietly.

“Like I said the other day, you should be out making your way in the world, seeing what it has in store for you,” she reminds him. His expression hardens.

“And as I _also_ said, I’m the bastard born son of a nameless whore. I am nothing, I come from nothing and in time I’m sure I will descend into nothing. As I have been told countless times, I’m the lowest of the low; vermin,” he bites back.

“Are you going to allow the circumstances of your birth decide what becomes of you? There is nothing here to hold you back Hal, _nothing_. Once you regain your strength there is nothing stopping you from leaving this place and never looking back. You owe Edmund only your contempt,” she retorts sharply.

He stares at her.

“Unless you do not believe that Anne was the last of the six Edmund claims to be your mother?” she whispers. Hal doesn’t speak.

“Edmund has never been truthful about anything to do with me in my life. It’s just his word that suggests my mother was one of six. For all I know it could be someone else, a name that only he knows and is unwilling to share with me,” he bursts out. He’s then silent for a moment. “The other girls, the younger ones, they like to taunt me over it so obviously he has talked. Perhaps he has told one of them? They think it’s a fine sport, to tease the bastard boy. I remember Edmund calling me an unholy child, the spawn of the devil.”

Lizzie sees an altogether different kind of pain on his face, the burn of tears in his eyes.

“The younger girls are idiots; they’re here to perform a task, not to think for themselves. You should pay them no mind. Half of them want to take you to their bed and get cross when you ignore them. You’re a good boy Hal; I can see that as plain as day.” She sees how he frowns.

“I’m not good Lizzie, I’m anything but that,” he mumbles. She tilts her head to one side.

“And why would you think that?” He looks at her again and his eyes are bright with unshed tears.

“Because of all of this. It’s all that I’ve ever known, all I’ve ever been told and if you’re told something enough times then you begin to believe it. Edmund says I’m ungodly and that I should’ve been drowned at birth.”

“And I think we both agree that Edmund is a sour, disagreeable old bastard who wounds with cruel words,”

“But what if he’s right?  By all accounts my mother didn’t want me. She tried everything to be rid of me. I clung to her insides like a parasite, like a leech. What if I am everything he claims me to be, here to undertake evil deeds?”  He swallows and she sees how his throat works.

“But what if you’re not? You get out of this world only what you put into it. You create your own destiny, not the words of a few unkind souls who have nothing better to do than make a poor child miserable,” she defends. She moves closer to him.

“You are _not_ nothing. One day you will make something of yourself and if you ever were to return to this place then it would be to show Edmund that what he said was wrong.”  She watches him, how he wipes at his face.

“You need to rest now and try to sleep. I shall visit again in the morning and we shall walk and talk if you wish. Just remember what I have said to you and to begin to believe it.” She touches his hand and slowly she rises to her feet.

The nightmares begin that night.


	23. Chapter Twenty Three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal's life changes. In this chapter i explore a possible reason why, as a vampire, Hal had 'cycles'. It's all subjective.

**Chapter 23:**

Hal’s bruises fade but his memories don’t. They taunt him when he’s at his most vulnerable. Images flash uninvited behind his eyes when he least expects it and catch him unaware. They scare him; turn him as cold as ice accompanied by paralysing terror that leave him frozen. As time goes on, he learns to hide when it happens to him; he does not want to give Edmund the satisfaction of seeing what he has reduced him to.

He keeps his distance from him and so far they have not spoken to each other. Hal deliberately does not make eye contact with him, preferring to keep to the shadows, hoping that he does not notice him. He doesn’t want him to see the fear he brought into his eyes. He has become a shadow; a ghost.

He feels the knife pressed up against the small of his back, the knife that Lizzie had given him for his own protection. It offers some comfort though whether he’ll be actually brave enough to use it is another matter.

His bones still ache on occasion and he moves carefully, like a man older than his years. He still doesn’t yet feel physically strong enough to undertake any hard labour such as the grave and ditch digging he’d been doing prior to his injuries but Lizzie has told him that his body will need time to recover and to be patient. He will be strong enough one day but patience has never been his strong suit. His eyes seek her out amidst the people milling around and he wonders whether she has any errands that she wishes for him to run for her today.

He flinches when he feels that hand clamp hard around his upper arm and he instantly freezes, his heart thundering with fright. He turns his head and his eyes widen marginally when he sees Edmund there, his mouth goes dry when he sees that familiar half smile on his grizzled face.

“You have a visitor,” he tells him in a low voice. Hal just stares at him. His thoughts scramble and no words form in his mouth. Edmund squeezes his arm tightly and Hal can barely hide the wince of pain. He struggles to keep his expression blank but his eyes begin to water.

“You keep ‘im happy do you hear me? I’ve ‘ad a few enquiries about you. Your guest knows people who _know_ people and if I’m offered enough then I’ll not think twice about selling you off to a certain kind of establishment that I have knowledge of,” he hisses into Hal’s ear and just like that he lets go of him.

Hal slowly climbs the stairs.

* * *

 

The man slowly propels him towards the bed. Hal stares at his face, seeing the lovesick expression there. Fear makes his heart beat a fearful tattoo in his chest. It closes up his throat and robs him of the ability to draw breath.

“I heard a story just the other day,” the man begins, his voice still that delicate sounding whisper. Hal does not speak and doesn’t think the man expects a response. He’s forced to sit down on the side of the bed, the frame creaking beneath his weight. He watches as the old man lowers himself down onto the mattress beside him. His eyes are wide, alight and Hal slowly swallows.

“About a young man, of an age similar to yours, of how he was captured, held hostage in a room not unlike this one. There were three of them against this one young handsome boy. They each took their turn with him….” His voice peters off. Hal looks away and he stares at the floor. So what happened to him is common gossip and he realises once and for all that Edmund has him, has him completely cowed. There is no way he can escape this. This is to be his existence now; to be used as seen fit by whoever his jailer pleases, his future decided on his whim. There is nothing for him outside of this building, just a nightmare of pain, captivity and helplessness. Edmund has won; he always wins. Why did he ever believe that he had a chance against him? His throat thickens further and he feels hopeless tears flood his eyes and he is unable to stop them. He gives in to his feelings of weakness, it’s of no use. Nobody cares; no one gives a damn about him. An escaping tear drips onto the knee of the worn breeches that he wears.

_The voice begs and pleads for mercy. None is given. He’s pinned up against the wall and held in place with a hand around his throat. He tries to struggle but it’s a waste of time and anyway the old goat seems to like it when he does that. He remembers the gleam in his rheumy old eyes as he did. He hears his paper thin whisper in his ear, suggesting such vile things._

“Oh Hal, what is the matter my sweet?” the old man cajoles. Hal feels his hand cup his chin and gently raise his head. “Whatever it is, I’m sure I can make it much better,” His other hand rests on his thigh and begins to slide higher.

_He calls him his pet, his sweetheart._

Hal pulls his head away from his grasp and squeezes his eyes shut, his head dropping down once again. He shouldn’t cry like a mewling babe, it gives him a headache. Using the heel of one hand he scrubs at his eyes. His head is aching now. It begins as a pounding to echo the sound of his heart but he can also hear another noise in his head. It buzzes, like an insect too close to his ear. It becomes louder, filling the spaces inside of his skull, gaining momentum, reaching a crescendo until he feels as though the pain will be too much and it begins to make him feel sick. He slowly exhales as eventually, finally he begins to feel the all pervading sense of fear begin to dissipate until it finally disappears. Silence reigns and for a moment Hal listens to it and he wonders at it. He takes a deep, cleansing breath.

“Hal?” The voice makes him frown and he turns his head in its direction. He stares at him. Then slowly, he smiles. His tears are gone.

“Why don’t you call me Harry?” he suggests and watches as the man stares at him with wide confused eyes. He smiles at him again, more brightly this time.

“Shall we get down to business then?” he enquires and sees the old man blink with continued surprise. Hal watches as he shuffles along the thin mattress towards him and he continues to smile at him. The old mean reaches out and once again touches his face. Hal stares at the lined skin, the faded eyes and the grey whiskers sprouting from his chin and his cheeks. He’s so _old_ … the man leans towards him, intent on claiming a kiss. Hal leans back very slightly and at the same time he reaches behind him, carefully retrieving the knife from the back of his breeches.

He rams the blade into his belly.

“Consider that business done you foul cretinous beast!” he hisses at him as the old man’s eyes widen and bulge with shock. He gives a wheeze as he falls forward, his head resting against Hal’s shoulder. Hal yanks the blade out and at the same time he pushes him away. He watches as the man tumbles off the bed to lie prone on the floor. Hal observes him impassively, his head tilted very slightly to one side. It’s as though he can see the life force ebb out of him. He finds it fascinating as he watches how he tries to curl up against the wound, all of that blood leaking out onto the floor. A slight smile curls the upper corners of his mouth as he continues to observe him.

“Hal!” His head snaps up when he hears her voice and he frowns in irritation. He sees Lizzie rush into the room, her eyes wide with horror. He wonders why, she will be under no illusion as to what he is, what he has done so why the expression of fear? She looks down at the man’s weakly writhing form before looking back at him.

“What have you done to him?” she whispers and Hal glances down at the dying man.

“Business,” he responds and Lizzie’s eyes stay round.

“ _Business_? You will _hang_ for this when Edmund finds out!” she squeaks in panic.

“Then I must leave before he does,” Hal responds and Lizzie frowns mildly at how calm he seems to be. This is not the fearful boy of earlier. She watches how he looks down at the man once again. The man is very pale, his lips beginning to turn blue. Hal tilts his head to one side and with one foot, gently pushes at the man’s shoulder.

“He’ll be dead soon,” he comments and then turns and walks out.

* * *

 

Lizzie chases after him up to his room. She’s confused by his change in emotion. He’s very different, the complete opposite to the scared boy of earlier and she wonders where the courage has come from.

“If you are intent on leaving today, let me come with you,” she asks him.

“If you want to,” he replies, his voice distracted as he arrives at his bedroom door.

“Hal…Elias Gates…” she begins as she follows him into his room. He pauses and looks around at the bare walls and his frown returns. He looks at her over one shoulder.

“Who?”

“The man you’ve just…killed... his name is… _was_ Elias Gates.”

“What about him?”

“Was he one of…” She pauses as he turns more fully to look at her. He shakes his head.

“No,” Hal retorts and then takes a breath. “He wasn’t one of them.” He doesn’t look at her. He shakes his head again. “Not then, but he was one of the others, a regular customer. He never did get to exchanging names, if they did, he doesn’t remember it.” He turns back around and kneels down beside his bed and Lizzie watches how he loosens one of the floorboards and reaches into the space below.

“What are you looking for?” Lizzie asks as she sees how his expression changes. Hal glances at her as he gets to his feet and wipes his dust from his hands.

“He had money saved. It was his means of escape and it’s not there any longer,” he mutters. Lizzie frowns as his use of ‘he’

“Who has money saved Hal? This is _your_ room,” she reminds him. He looks at her but he doesn’t answer, doesn’t smile at his mistake. She finds it a little disconcerting and she wonders whether he has truly taken leave of his senses.

She tries a different tack.

“Did anyone know it was there?” She watches as he shakes his head.

“It was his secret, his alone. No one came up here except for you.”

Lizzie’s eyes widen with outrage. “I would not steal from you!” she exclaims and he looks away.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t…” His voice fades away as a thought occurs to him.

“Rosemary,” he whispers and Lizzie’s eyes go wide again as he pushes past her and disappears.

* * *

 

Rosemary is entertaining when he bursts through her door. She sits up and her eyes go round with outrage.

“Hal! Just what do you think you are doing?” she squeals, holding the sheets closer to her chest. He strides to her bedside and he grabs her arm.

“You have something that does not belong to you, where is it?” he snarls at her, pulling her towards him. Rosemary’s eyes go wider still but any colour in her cheeks quickly disappears.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about and you’d better leave,” she blusters. Hal gives her arm a shake.

“Or what? What will you do exactly?” he snaps. He glances at her customer who is frozen on the mattress, warily watching them both.

“You need to leave,” he warns him and when he falters Hal takes out the knife from its hiding place and points it at him. “Do I need to tell you again? Get out!” he commands and the man bolts. Hal returns his attention to Rosemary, tightening his grip on her upper arm.

“Does Edmund know that he has employed someone with such light fingers or was that part of your contract? You service them and then you steal from them,” he sneers.

“I think you’re confused Hal, I do not know what you’re talking about!” she shouts back at him, wincing against the pain.

“You are a _terrible_ liar! No one goes to that room in the eaves, no one pays the bastard boy a visit but you did, the night three men trapped him in a room and proceeded to teach him a lesson he would never forget. Plenty of opportunity for you to search for something, anything worth stealing,” Hal accuses, his eyes growing bright with anger. Rosemary gasps.

“I think you had a harder blow to your head than you thought young Hal.”

“You knew didn’t you? You were in on the plot. Give him a task to do to get him into that room and the money you stole was just extra wasn’t it?” He gives her a shake, “ _Wa_ _sn’t_ it?” He pushes her away and she tumbles across the mattress. He looks around the room, barely glancing at Lizzie who stands in the door way staring at him in disbelief.

“I wonder whether you were recently paid, that will be repayment enough I think,” he murmurs and he begins to search, scattering fripperies and belongings as he does.

“Hal.” Lizzie finally enters the room and she heads towards him, barely glancing at Rosemary who has struggled out of her bed and is in the process of wrapping a robe around her naked body.

“It isn’t worth it,” she murmurs to him and he glares at her. She takes half a step back at his vehemence. It is like he has been possessed by something demonic and the thought of it fills her with horror. She doesn’t recognise this soul.

“It was his and she stole it!” he hisses angrily back at her. He turns back and throws open a coffer and he kneels down in front of it. Soon gowns and other such garments are being flung around the room in a blizzard of colourful fabric. Lizzie hears Rosemary’s scream of outrage from behind her and she turns to see her storming towards them both, her expression murderous.

“Edmund shall know of this Hal! You have no right to come into my room and cause this mayhem!” she shrieks. Lizzie grabs her shoulders, stopping her.

“You shall hold your tongue and let Hal get on with it if you know what’s good for you. Except for me you’re the only one who has been near Hal’s room in recent weeks so be _quiet!_ ” she commands her. Rosemary’s eyes widen and her mouth snaps shut as all of a sudden Hal gives a shout of triumph. Lizzie looks at him over her shoulder to see Hal get to his feet, a red cloth pouch in his hand which he holds up.

“This is Hal’s and I am taking it back. Stop me if you feel brave enough.”  He gives the pouch a shake and Lizzie hears the rattle of coins. She looks back at Rosemary.

“You would dare steal from Hal?”

“He’s a gutter rat, what’s he going to do with it?” Rosemary sneers back and cries out when Lizzie slaps her face. She pushes her away and she falls to the floor, cradling her cheek.

Lizzie looks back at Hal. “We must leave and leave now, the stupid girl has created enough noise to wake Christ and all of His Saints.” She holds out a hand and after a moment, Hal takes it.

They turn to leave.

Edmund stands in the doorway with arms folded over his enormous belly. He eyes the pair.

“Well well well, what do we have here then?” he wonders.

The pair stop and just stare at him.  He looks at them both.

“Going somewhere?” he enquires.

“Away from here, from you, from all of this,” Lizzie responds. Edmund looks back at Hal and he frowns slightly.

“Why aren’t you with Mr Gates? Finished already?”  Lizzie looks at Hal. He’s gone quiet now, the earlier anger and belligerence having faded somewhat. He’s also turned a little pale.

“And what is that on your shirt, is it blood?” he whispers, taking a step towards him. “Is that blood I see?” A horrible silence falls. “What did you do young Hal?”

Lizzie watches a gleam come into Hal’s eyes as he lifts his chin and he stares at him. He slowly smiles.

“What he had coming to him,” he answers calmly and coldly. Lizzie sees the shock flare in Edmund’s eyes as he absorbs this piece of information.

“Oh no…you can’t have. _You_? You will swing for this young man, you will swing high!” His voice rises.

“And you think you should escape punishment for what _you_ have done? What you have threatened to do? You are just as implicit,” Lizzie interrupts.  Edmund glares at her.

“This place has slowly destroyed his soul Edmund. Years of pain and degradation and humiliation, it has taken over his mind and made him into something pitiable. Did you expect him to take his beatings and his punishments without another word? You broke him and this is all your fault!” she hisses at him.

“This is a brothel my love, the boy is handsome enough and has to make his living somehow,” Edmund’s tone is bemused.

“Not by being some man’s fancy piece. You have destroyed his soul piece by piece. It is inside of him, shrivelled and useless and that is because of _you_ ,” she retorts.

“It’s time to leave,” Hal interrupts as if bored with their conversation and he moves around Edmund. He grabs onto his arm and he shakes his head.

“You are going nowhere my boy,” he informs him. Lizzie watches a change come over Hal once again. His eyes become dark and he reaches behind him and pulls out the blade. He holds it up to his face.

“Let go of him or I swear I will gut you like the pig you are!” he hisses at him. Edmund’s eyes go wide with shock and he instantly releases him. Hal walks away.

* * *

 

Lizzie catches up to him as he walks along the passageway towards the staircase. She sees how he tucks the knife away again, his stride steady and determined.

“Do you think that I haven’t been aware of your budding little friendship?” Edmund shouts after them. The pair keep walking.

“I’m surprised you haven’t been tempted by what she has to offer Hal, for the right price I know she would do anything your heart desired,” he continues.

“Keep walking,” Lizzie whispers, feeling him capture her hand in his and hold on tightly to it.

“Or could it be that you just don’t like women?” Edmund taunts and Hal stops dead in his tracks.

“Hal…please…he is trying to get a reaction out of you, do not give him the satisfaction,” Lizzie pleads, her voice becoming anxious. He glances at her as he lets go of her hand. He turns around and looks at Edmund, who grins.

“Let us leave and forget about him,” Lizzie whispers to him. “He can’t hurt you anymore, none of them can. Keep that in your head.”

“Are you going to let that whore dictate how to think now Hal?” Edmund enquires as he slowly approaches them. He then stops and he looks at Lizzie and he smiles once more.

“You were always curious to know who your mother was, weren’t you?” He looks back at him.

“She’s dead,” Hal replies in a low voice and Edmund tilts his head to one side and regards him.

“Are you sure about that Hal? Quite sure?” He shifts and folds his arms. “You see, I was there the day you were born, an unseasonably cold May mornin’ I seem to remember. Try as she might to be rid o’ you, you clung to her, sucking the life out of her. You were in no hurry to enter the world; you caused her nothing but pain and regret Hal, nothing but eternal unrelenting agony. You just about killed her, born in an ocean of blood and the midwife had never seen so much lost and the mother surviving the ordeal. It was almost unheard of.”

Hal remains very still. “She was supposed to be one of six and the last one died not long ago,” he reminds him.

“Did I really say that or are you just mistaken?” Lizzie sees how Hal’s expression sharpens with interest.

“Don’t you want to know her name Hal? For all that you know she could’ve been right beside you all along and you were none the wiser. This little friendship that you two have, hasn’t it crossed your mind that she may have another reason for nurturing it?” He watches with a smile, as Hal slowly turns his head and he looks at Lizzie. Her eyes go round.

“He’s lying to you Hal, I’m _not_ your mother,” she tells him. He just stares at her.

“How do you know that she’s telling you the truth Hal? Perhaps she’s feeling guilty for abandoning you?”

“ _He’s_ the one who is not telling the truth Hal. Listen to me; you were already born when I arrived here, just a young child. If you were my son then I would’ve admitted it and proudly so!”

“Perhaps you came back, to see how that child was, perhaps he’s right in that you were too consumed with guilt?” Hal’s voice is barely above a whisper. She moves closer to him, tries to take his hand but he pulls it away. She clenches her own hand into a fist and swallows against the sharp pang of rejection.

“This is what Edmund does Hal; he twists words and ideas to suit himself. He has never been truthful about anything, you know this. None of this is true, I swear to you. If you were my blood then I would have told you, there would’ve been no secrecy but you are _not_ my child!”

“Do you know who she was?” he demands abruptly and Lizzie starts in fright at the sharpness of his tone. She shakes her head and Hal looks back at Edmund.

“But you do. Of course you do.” He glares at him, seeing the slow satisfied smile that blooms on his face. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

“It doesn’t matter anymore; it is no longer of any importance to me.” He looks at Lizzie once more and slowly holds out his hand to her again.

“You’ve spent your entire life being lied to Hal and you believe the word of a whore when she states that you are not her son yet she treats you like one?”

Hal spins around and there is fury in his eyes.

“Compared to what? Being lied to by you? Lizzie has shown kindness that has long since passed by you and the others here and if that makes him trust her marginally more than he would trust any of you then so be it!” he snarls, striding towards him. The heat of his rage makes Edmund’s eyes widen momentarily and back up a step or two. It doesn’t last for long and his eyes narrow as he grabs Hal by his throat and turns him around, slamming him up against the rough wall. His head makes a solid audible connection that makes Hal blink.

“So it would seem you have discovered your spine my boy. Do you think that makes you any more of a man? Well it doesn’t. It makes you what you have always been; nothing, a nobody.” He squeezes tightly, listening as Hal gasps. Edmund tightens his grip, watching him turn a dark red colour as he chokes and tries to fight back.

“And now you’re going to die a nobody. Unloved and forgotten,” he murmurs. Lizzie’s eyes widen as she watches the fight slowly go out of Hal.

“No…no!” she screams, running towards them both. She grabs Edmund’s arm and she pulls with all of her might. Edmund loosens his grip just enough to push her away but it is all that Hal needs and he comes to vivid, brutal life.

He drives both of his fists into Edmund’s soft belly with all of the strength that he possesses and watches him stagger back, winded.

“If your definition of a man is to be like you then he escaped lightly,” he spits back. Edmund straightens.

“Who is this he that you claim Hal? Have you gone insane? Are you possessed by demons?”

“You can’t hurt him anymore. Your reign over him is at an end,” Hal taunts. He straightens up and moves away from him.

Edmund charges at him, like an enraged bull and he catches him around his waist. Hal staggers backwards, along the narrow corridor towards the staircase and his back makes hard contact with the wall at the top of it. It drives the air from his lungs and he gasps for breath. Edmund holds him by the front of his shirt, breathing heavily, his face flushed with rage and a scant inch away from his own. He hits him. Hal’s head turns to one side with the force of the blow. He looks back at him and he grins. When Edmund hits him again, he laughs.

“Is this supposed to scare me? Or to cow _him_ into absolute obedience?” he hisses at him. The next blow drives Hal to his knees and it spills blood. Hal wipes at his mouth and he looks up at Edmund. He grins, showing blood-stained teeth and he sees Lizzie out of the corner of his eye.

“Run!” he hisses at her, his voice low. He staggers to his feet and sways on weak knees. The next blow catches the side of Hal’s head and he staggers and loses his balance.

Pain explodes inside of him as his head makes contact with the hard unyielding staircase. He tumbles downwards and when he finally reaches the bottom he can only stare up at the ceiling in momentary stunned disbelief.

As his senses begin to return, he becomes aware of pain radiating through every part of his body. His ribs, his side, his legs all ache. He struggles to draw air into starved lungs. His head hurts. He blinks and turns his head.

Lizzie lies beside him and she isn’t moving. Hal frowns and rolls onto his side.

What is she doing there? Why are they both lying at the bottom of the staircase?

“Lizzie?” He crawls towards her. How did all of this happen? Why doesn’t he remember anything?  Her eyes are closed, her skirts tossed around her legs. Coins are scattered nearby. His eyes go wide as he reaches for her, scooping her into his arms. She’s soft, pliant and warm. He gently shakes her.

“Lizzie…open your eyes,” he whispers. He touches her face, her hair and his fingers come away red with blood. He stares at them in horror before he turns his head and looks up the staircase. Edmund is standing there, accompanied by Rosemary and both are watching him with identical expressions of disbelief.

“She’s not moving…she’s not breathing. You must help her…get help!” Hal calls up at them but they continue to stare at him as if rooted to the spot. Hal looks back down at Lizzie and gently shakes her once more.

“Please Lizzie,” he begs, fear and grief swelling inside of him.

“Help! _Murder!_ ” Edmund’s strident voice has Hal looking back up at him once more. He frowns in confusion but that melts away when he sees other people begin to appear, wondering what the commotion is about.

“He has killed her! She caught him trying to steal from her, he’s a murderer and a thief…look at the blood that stains his shirt!” he accuses and Hal looks down and his eyes go wide when he sees the blood stains splashed there. Carefully he lowers Lizzie to the floor and slowly he gets to his feet, watching those people come closer to him.

“It wasn’t me,” he answers in a low guarded tone.

“You pushed her down the stairs! I witnessed it myself!” Edmund continues and Hal straightens up, looking back up at him.

“It was you!” he yells back at him.

“You killed her to cover your thieving tracks! Murderer, _thief_!” Rosemary joins in, pointing at him. Slowly Hal begins to back away as the others move closer to him. He sees how they look at Lizzie and then at him and their minds are made up. They all believe Edmund and Rosemary. His heart skitters uneasily in his chest as he realises that they mean to capture him. If they do then he is as good as dead.

Hal casts a final, desperate look at Lizzie’s prone body before he turns and runs.

As he emerges into the night, his heart is heavy with pain. Tears burn at the backs of his eyes. Rain is steadily falling, turning the street in front of him into a river of thick mud.

He barely takes notice as he fades into the night.

 

 

 


	24. Chapter Twenty Four.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group are back in England.

**Chapter Twenty Four.**

She fights at first; they always do as panic overtakes them. They’re at their strongest initially, when the fear is at its most pure, but he is stronger, stronger still when he is hungry and right at this moment he is ravenous. As he takes from her, her initial burst of strength begins to wane. Her eyes dim and her heartbeat slows, her movements become weaker and less purposeful as eventually her heart ceases to beat.

Hal rears up, gasping in a breath. He is awash in her blood. It spills over his chin, deliciously warm and red and splatters onto his chest. His eyes return to their usual colour as he looks down at her and his fangs retract

Now he just watches her. He is always fascinated by the process of how death steals them away. How they become so still, pale and cold as their essence fades into the atmosphere, leaving behind this shell. He sometimes thinks about his recruitment, of the promises Alexei had made to him. He remembers the darkness, the bone chilling cold and of _them_ , hidden within the vestiges of his last moments, he isn’t entirely sure what they were but he got the impression that they were supposed to greet him and escort him into the next word but were instead thwarted at the last moment when he returned to this world, different, stronger and thirstier. He’s under the impression that he wasn’t supposed to impede them so when he watches this girl die, he wonders whether they wait for her soul too.

He unties Achilles’ reins and gets back into the saddle. The girl’s body is hidden in thick undergrowth, with the chill of the approaching winter in the air, with luck a thick blanket of snow will soon hide her and she won’t be discovered until spring, if at all. He heads back in the direction of the place he privately calls ‘Wyndam Manor’

He lives in a sprawling estate of pale yellow stone in the green, quietly picturesque countryside. It’s solitary, peaceful and exactly how Wyndam likes it. Here they are ignored and live their lives uninterrupted. They rarely, if ever receive visitors and when they do, they’re invariably vampires here to pay homage to his master. When this happens, Hal is introduced, quietly and without ceremony but he never fails to see the speculation on their pale avaricious faces. He’s well aware that to capture the attention of this Old One is to capture the attention of everyone within their society.

* * *

 

Bartholomew West stands in front of Wyndam’s impressive looking desk and he waits for his opinion. He watches how his eyes scan over each detail on each piece of parchment before eventually he looks up at him.

“This has been Hal’s progress since his arrival here?” Bartholomew nods.

“It is. I have to say, I’m very impressed in how he has applied himself. He has improved in all manners of learning greatly and with enthusiasm. If I am honest, I had expected the opposite from him as he showed no interest in advancing his education prior to our departure and now, well you can see for yourself.” He indicates the sheaf of papers. Wyndam places them down on the desk’s surface and frowns very slightly.

“I had hoped that he would gain an interest in learning and it would seem that he indeed has. He works hard you say?”

“Most diligently sir. His writing, especially, as you can see, has improved beyond measure and he’s gained an interest in all manner of subjects, books, languages, history to name but a few. He’s most curious,” Bartholomew replies and Wyndam looks up at him.

“You sound almost surprised by that revelation,” he comments. Bartholomew shrugs.

“Well you saw how he was before we arrived here. If I were a gambling man then I would’ve wagered that he would’ve given us the slip long before arriving here,” he answers. Wyndam frowns very slightly. Prior to their conversation about his human life, that suspicion had not been far from the back of his own mind. He sits back in his chair.

“Then I think young Henry has earned himself a reward don’t you think?”

* * *

 

“Begging your pardon sir, but you’re wanted downstairs.”

Hal swallows down his irritation and looks up from his book. He’s making progress, the order of letters are becoming clearer, starting to make sense to him and he has discovered a burgeoning interest in the written word. He has a little bit of time free from the constant tutelage that Bartholomew has imposed upon him so this interruption is most unwelcome. He frowns at the messenger, not Frederick, he is still at the residence across the sea, this one is another one and for a moment he scrambles to remember his name.

“Thank you Arthur,” He closes his book and rises slowly from his chair. He places his book on the windowsill beside his seat and follow’s Wyndam’s steward out of the room. Away from the roaring fire there’s a chill in the air and as he follows in search of his patron, he sees the first sprinkle of snow tumble down past a window. He bites back a smile as he thinks of the girl again.

Hal follows Arthur to a room off the Great Hall and he pauses, frowning again as he notices that the room is a hive of activity. Then he sees Wyndam in the centre of it, arms outstretched and surrounded by a tailor and two seamstresses. The frown dissolves and instead he leans against the door frame and folds his arms, observing the organised chaos unfolding in front of him. It lasts barely a moment before Wyndam turns in his direction.

“Finally, you’re here. Well come in then!” he instructs him, impatience colouring his tone. He remains still as a half constructed doublet is fitted over him. Hal wanders into the room, a bemused smile on his face.

“You requested my presence?” His eyes take in the bolts of fabric that jostle for space on a long table beneath the window, they vary in colour from deepest black, through to varying shades of blue, green, vermillion and gold. The brighter colours seem to instantly draw the gaze, shimmering in their splendour beneath the subdued greyish white light from outside.

“I did.” He pauses as the tailor moves around him, busying himself with lengths and hemlines.

“A most becoming shade my Lord,” the tailor comments. Hal watches him; the half made doublet Wyndam is currently patiently modelling is the shade of the deepest black. He swallows back a smile and returns his attention to Wyndam. With one hand, Wyndam indicates the bolts of cloth and watches how Hal glances back at them.

“You need a new wardrobe,” he informs him. He sees the puzzlement that crosses the younger vampire’s face at his proclamation.

“New clothes sir? But I have a perfectly serviceable wardrobe.” He watches the tailor lift the doublet from Wyndam’s shoulders.

“For day to day wear around this residence perhaps but I’m planning on having you accompany me to London soon and as you’ll be on show, I’ll require you to be well turned out and presentable as it will ultimately reflect on me.” He walks towards the table and examines the bolts of fabric, stroking the nap of the velvets and silks. Hal comes to stand beside him, his eyes sliding over the different materials. He watches the tailor come to stand on Wyndam’s other side and do the same.

“Some of your doublets are a hair’s breadth from falling to pieces Hal. As I said, suitable for day to day wear whilst here but there will be times when I shall need you to accompany me on important business and during those times you must be well clad,” he informs him. Hal quietly sighs as he sees how he pauses in front of a bolt of black heavy cloth. It would seem his patron would like him to look like a husband in mourning.

“This is a very good choice my Lord; hard wearing, practical and warm.” The tailor glances at Hal for a brief moment before returning his attention to Wyndam “Would you like me to attend to the young gentleman now sir?” he asks.

“Yes please Latimer,” Hal watches how Latimer skirts around Wyndam to stand beside him. He’s a small, sprightly man barely reaching his shoulder in height. Hal regards him with a modicum of suspicion.

“This way young sir. I promise I do not bite,” His smile is mild, his manner obsequious

“You may not but be assured, I do,” Hal answers.

“So I have been led to believe sir,” Latimer responds politely and Hal sends a startled glance in Wyndam’s direction. A faint smile passes across his face.

“Latimer has been in my service for over two hundred years Hal, there is nothing that he doesn’t know about gentleman’s tailoring. I have not been disappointed yet,” he assures him, returning his attention to the fabric on the table. Hal sighs and follows Latimer further into the room.

* * *

 

He stands absolutely still as Latimer and his seamstresses fuss around him. He is not comfortable with this level of attention but understands that while it is a tiresome necessity, he will have new clothes at the end of it all. His attention turns back to the bolts of fabric on the long table beneath the window.

“He’ll need a selection of body linen, several good quality white lawn shirts as well as a good travelling cloak, pelt lined. The weather is drawing in now and the winter months here can be viciously cold. Oh and he’ll need to be measured up for boots and other footwear too,” Wyndam instructs. Hal watches how Latimer nods whilst one of his assistants scribbles the list down.

“Tis a shame the Lady Maria isn’t here to oversee this my Lord, she was always so fond of dressing the young men, such an eye for colour and fashion if memory serves,” Latimer comments as he stands in front of Hal and eyes him with a professional air.

“Your memory serves you well Latimer but if I want my protégé to resemble a strutting peacock then I shall be sure to call upon her services forthwith. I still have nightmares about some of the outfits she selected for Master Grey, all those scarlets and bright blues. The cost to put it all right just about bankrupted me.” Hal watches how Latimer bites back a smile and Wyndam’s eyes aren’t their usual ice blue.

“Ah yes sir, I do remember. The young gentleman here is more suited to more sombre shades I must agree. Though I think the shades of forest green and bronze would be most pleasing on him do you agree?” Both of the seamstresses hurried to the table and selected bolts in both colours and Latimer placed a piece of each fabric across either shoulder. Wyndam’s eyes narrow slightly.

“You know my choice of colours sir.” he reminds him. Hal looks down at the colours draped over either shoulder.

“They are most pleasing my Lord,” he comments and any further words cease as Wyndam’s eyes chill over.

“It is not becoming of a vampire of my stature to have an apprentice in my company dressed in such…vulgar colours. The whole reason behind the choice of colour is so that you remain invisible, easily forgotten and able to blend into the shadows,” he reminds him and Hal frowns at the sting in the words.

“But my Lord, these colours are not exactly…vulgar,” He looks down at the bronze coloured fabric, it is unlike anything he has seen before and the beauty of its unusual colour teases at him.

“It is most unsuitable Master Yorke and that is the end of the matter,” Wyndam decrees and Hal swallows against the disappointment.

“I still have money left, from the Deveraux affair…” he tells him and Wyndam regards him impassively. Hal takes a deep breath and he looks at Latimer.

“How much to have a doublet and breeches in both colours?” he requests and he sees how Latimer looks at Wyndam, the uncertainty in his expression. Hal sighs.

“Surely you have no disagreement if I have enough to pay for them from my own savings sir?” he suggests.

“Hal…” Wyndam begins. Hal smiles at him and then looks to the tailor.

“Will I have enough sir, to pay for what I’ve requested? Name your price,” he interrupts and he waits. The two men look at each other and then at Wyndam, who remains silent.

“If you are so insistent upon this course then I obviously cannot dissuade you, but I shall not pay for such fripperies, the expense is all yours,” he answers. Hal turns back to Latimer and the amount that he names makes him wince inside. His services are not cheap and to acquire both outfits it will wipe out most of what money he does have saved. He looks down at both fabrics, still draped over each shoulder and his mind is made up. It will be worth it.

“Then I must have both, in either colour Mr Latimer sir.” He smiles at him, quietly pleased and he ignores the loud sigh of irritation from across the room.

Latimer smiles back. “Very good young sir,” he responds.

* * *

 

Hal pulls his new travelling cloak more closely around his body and waits for Wyndam to make his appearance. Beneath him Achilles moves restlessly, eager to be moving and absently Hal leans forwards and pats his neck and feels the horse begin to settle slightly beneath his touch. Today is the day that they depart for London, a city he hasn’t set foot in for over ten years. According to Wyndam, they will spend the Christmas season in the city and return here after Twelfth Night. He’s hosting a gathering of vampires on Snow’s behalf, almost like a grand council meeting of elders, Old Ones and other important dignitaries. He still isn’t entirely sure what his role is in all of this. He would have preferred to remain here but he must accompany Wyndam and he cannot refuse such a command. Presently Wyndam appears, pulling on his gloves and Hal is reminded of his own which are fur lined and unlike anything he has owned in his life. His patron has been extremely generous, he is now the owner of several new outfits, pairs of leather boots as well as other items of clothing. He turns his head as Louis comes into view and presently the party moves off.

It is a day cold enough to numb the bones. Hal suppresses a shiver, feeling an icy breeze wash across his face and then tickle the back of his neck. His breath plumes white steam in front of him as his eyes take in the scenery around him. A heavy snowfall covers everything as far as the eye can see in a thick white perfect blanket. The sky above him is pure blue with faint delicate wisps of cloud, like lace work, dotted here and there.

Gradually the open landscape and loosely scattered villages condense into more densely packed buildings that seem to huddle almost protectively together. The relative solitude dissolves into noise which becomes louder the further into the city they ride. And the smell, dear God the _smell_. Hal wrinkles his nose as various odours assault his senses. How could he have forgotten the sheer rotten smell of this cess pit? He tightens his hands on Achilles reins, keeping a watchful eye on the humanity that mill around beneath him. Pickpockets as well as other thieves and vagabonds will be at work and their arrival will have been noted as will their baggage cart, the horses and their clothing. He keeps a hand on the hilt of his sword and remains observant. Anyone who wanders too close to their entourage is carefully eased away with a carefully placed boot. On more than one occasion, his eyes rise to above street level, where the skulls of past traitors rattle on their pikes, eye sockets picked clean by ravenously raucous crows, rotting flesh dripping from their bones like half melted candle wax. He swallows against a dry mouth but remains vigilant.

* * *

 

They arrive in the courtyard of a large house, the sound of horse hooves loud on the cobbles. Hal pauses beside Wyndam as the heavy wooden doors to the residence are hauled open and he watches a young man appear on the threshold. He watches as he sees Wyndam and a smile almost splits his face in two.

“My Lord,” he greets happily and approaches Wyndam’s horse. Hal watches as Wyndam smiles and dismounts. He approaches the young man and Hal watches most curiously as the younger man bends at the knee.

“I am most honoured to be in your service once again my Lord,” he tells him. Hal sees the smile that briefly crosses his patron’s face at the greeting. He places his hands on the young man’s shoulders and then helps him to rise. The two of them smile at each other.

“I am heartened to see you again Robert. It has been far too long,” he replies.

“Barely a twelve month sir,” he corrects, still with that smile and Hal is somewhat surprised at the air of familiarity between them both. Wyndam then turns to look at Hal and beckons him over. Hal dismounts and as he does, Louis materialises beside him to take Achilles’s reins. Hal approaches the pair.

“Hal, I’d like you to meet Robert Grey, your predecessor,” he introduces. He looks back at Robert. “Robert, this is Hal Yorke.” 

“Ah, so you are my replacement,” Robert comments with a small bow. He casts a look in Wyndam’s direction “My Lord can be a hard taskmaster but he is always fair,” he adds on.

“I cannot disagree with that notion. It is good to make your acquaintance sir,” Hal responds carefully and cautiously. Robert is of similar height to himself, with broad shoulders and a shock of black curly hair. His eyes are large and very blue and coupled with high cheekbones stretched over ice pale skin, makes for an interesting individual. Hal then realises that this must be the Robert that Xavier alluded to earlier.

“Likewise,” Robert responds politely and then turns back to Wyndam and that smile returns.

“Your chambers are prepared and a small gathering is planned for later this evening. Just a few friends, Charles and Stephen to name but two. I know you enjoy their company.” They begin to walk towards the entrance of the house leaving Hal to follow.

Hal watches as Wyndam murmurs something in Robert’s ear. The other vampire glances briefly at him as he bows and takes his leave but Hal feels a prickle of something travel up and down his spine, a warning maybe? He isn’t entirely sure. Wyndam turns to look more fully at Hal.

“Arthur will show you to your chamber, he’s familiar with this building and knows his way around. You have the opportunity to rest awhile before dinner.”

“Robert mentioned a gathering?” He watches as Wyndam nods.

“Yes, not a very large one fortunately but I wish for you to be present, a lot of my associates are looking forward to making your acquaintance so I require you to be on time, well dressed and well behaved, is that understood?” His blue gaze is steady on his face and Hal gives a small bow of acknowledgment. He is to be on his best behaviour. He catches sight of Arthur as he approaches them.

“Hal is to be given the Green Chamber,” Robert instructs and Arthur nods. He looks at Hal. “This way sir,” he requests and Hal follows.

* * *

 

His room is impressive and cavernous as he follows Arthur inside. He takes in the oak panelled walls and floor. A magnificent engraved four poster bed graces one corner, swathes of deep green velvet hanging from each corner, the same colour picked in various accents across the room.  He sees a fire blazing merrily in a large stone fireplace across from him, green upholstered chairs gracing either side of it. A simple meal of cheese, bread and hot spiced wine has been left on top of a coffer pushed up against the foot of the bed and Hal’s stomach rumbles. It’s been a while since he’s last eaten, food or otherwise.

“My Lord Wyndam will send a message when he is ready for you sir,” Arthur informs him and Hal nods. He watches Wyndam’s steward depart.

 

 

 

 


	25. Chapter Twenty Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal gets to know Robert Grey.

**Chapter Twenty Five.**

Hal opens the coffer that contains his new clothes and carefully takes out the black doublet and breeches for this evening’s gathering. He slowly places them on his bed and returns to the chest and he looks down. He sees the doublets that he paid for himself, the deep green as well as the bronze shade. He stares at them for a moment or two and he’s tempted to ignore Wyndam’s instructions and choose one of those but he specified that he must be dressed correctly and it would not bode well for him if he chose to defy him. He sighs regretfully and closes the lid.

He’s pulling on his boots when there’s a quick tap on his door and he lifts his head as it opens and Louis appears. He slowly approaches him.

“My Lord Wyndam is enquiring as to whether you are ready to join him yet?” he enquires. Slowly Hal rises to his feet and runs a hand down each sleeve of his doublet. It’s times such as this one that he wishes that he could see his reflection in a looking glass and judge how he looks for himself.

“I’m almost ready,” he replies and then sees the frown on his face. “Something troubles you?” he asks.

“You look very splendid in your new clothes Hal,” Louis replies and Hal regards him.

“As do you.” He watches how Louis looks down at his very plain navy blue doublet and breeches.

“I look like a steward, I could just as well be working for you in this outfit,” he answers dourly.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? You have new clothing, you should be grateful. I could remind you of the substitute, it still could be if you so desire,” he answers coldly and he sees the hurt in Louis’s eyes as he looks back at him.  Hal walks towards him and he pauses in front of him. “You are only breathing because of me and my mercy. You will wear whatever Mr Wyndam or I decide and you will be thankful for it.”

* * *

 

He can hear the low hum of conversation as he approaches the dining room where the gathering is to be held. He’s under no illusions, while Wyndam may have important business in London, Hal himself is here to be speculated about as well as inspected. He glances at Louis as the double doors to the dining hall are opened and he is admitted.

He takes a deep breath and takes a step inside. He is used to putting on a front. He sees his master across the room, holding court to a small group of similarly sombre clad men. He lifts his eyes and he looks at Hal and surreptitiously nods. Hal takes another breath and approaches the small group. The smile Wyndam gives him is perfunctory and polite as Hal takes his place to his right and waits as introductions are conducted.

“Gentlemen, I wish for you to meet my newest protégé, Henry Yorke. Hal, these gentlemen are; Stephen Northwood, Charles Harcourt and Jonathan Norton,” he introduces and Hal bows slightly, a slight smile on his face.

“I am honoured to make your acquaintance gentlemen,” he replies politely.

“We are most intrigued to make yours Master Yorke, after apprenticing Robert Grey, we thought he would be the last but we were mistaken. We understand you were sired by Alexei after Orsha?” Charles asks and Hal stares at the tall, sparse man and his openness momentarily throws him.

“We have no secrets in London sir, and when Edgar has a new protégé then of course we become curious. Alexei was notorious in more ways than one and to meet the vampire who ended his notoriety is quite the boon for us,” he goes on, sensing his discomfort. Hal glances briefly at Wyndam to see how he observes him. He then returns his attention to Charles and his smile is coldly cordial.

“You are of course, correct. I was sired after Orsha by Alexei. He wasn’t the most…attentive sire and there were aspects to him that I did not welcome, that is true. If you are asking whether I regretted what I did then the answer is no. Absolutely not,” he answers quietly. The three vampires exchange a look but Hal doesn’t see any condemnation, quite the opposite. He can see a sliver of admiration in Charles's brown eyes.

“And how are you finding your apprenticeship Hal?” Jonathan questions and Hal sends another brief glance Wyndam’s way and his answering smile is faint. He returns his attention to Jonathan; he’s a softer, rounder specimen than Charles with fine corn gold hair and very blue eyes.

“He is a most demanding taskmaster yet I know I’m fortunate to have his patronage,” he tells him and he sees Jonathan’s answering smile, it is almost sympathetic and understanding begins to dawn.

“You were once his apprentice?” He sees how his smile widens and he looks to his two companions.

“We all were,” he tells him.

* * *

 

Hal has been more or less dismissed. Wyndam has shown him off, he has been introduced and he has been on his best behaviour and scrupulously polite. He feels tired and restless. He wonders whether he can make his excuses and escape. He turns his head and looks for Wyndam and espies him across the room, holding court as it were and he is smiling in a manner he has never seen before. It intrigues him that Wyndam is so comfortable here. As far as he has been able to gauge, Edgar Wyndam is careful, cautious and definitely suspicious but here he is almost…normal. He wonders why.

“I thought perhaps you would appreciate this.” Hal looks away and up at Louis who holds two goblets, one of which he holds out to him. He accepts it and sips absently at the wine it contains.

“Thank you,” he murmurs in response.

“I also thought now that you are free, that you and I could make our excuses and leave, the night is still quite young and we could explore the neighbourhood,” he suggests and Hal looks at him, understanding immediately his meaning but in truth he just wants to be by himself, to feel the influence of this town settle again and be comfortable with it. He’s very close to home territory and the knowledge sits like an open sore on his soul. He opens his mouth to respond.

“Louis! You devil, where on earth did you spring from?” Hal turns in the opposite direction when he hears Robert’s voice, the delight evident in his tone upon spying someone he obviously knows and hasn’t seen for a while. He watches Robert approach their group and his smile is wide and open. His blue eyes seem to sparkle as he approaches Louis and pats his shoulder. He watches how Louis smiles, obviously pleased to see him too.

“Robert, it’s been a while since we were last in contact,” he replies and Hal continues to observe, watching as Robert looks around, plainly looking for someone else.

“Is James here? I don’t remember seeing him and I haven’t forgotten that you both are joined at the hip.  I remember our japes back at Snow’s estate,” he reminisces with a grin. Louis looks to Hal and his expression becomes tense and closed in. An awkward silence drops between them.

“Ah…about James…” he begins.

“James is dead,” another more familiar voice interrupts and Hal snaps his head back around to see Wyndam standing by his shoulder. He hadn’t heard him approach and it unnerves him slightly. He sees how he stares pointedly at Louis who after a moment gives him his goblet of wine which he accepts with the very faintest of smiles.

“Dead?” Robert stares at him with wide stunned eyes. Slowly Wyndam looks at Hal.

“Yes. He met his match and he lost,” he replies. His eyes hold Hal’s for a brief moment longer before he returns his attention to Robert who seems genuinely shocked.

“Oh.” Robert looks at Hal and he watches as realisation dawns, to be replaced by understanding. “ _Oh_.” The two younger vampires stare at each other for a longer moment and Hal sees the naked curiosity in Robert’s gaze. Hal is the first one to look away and he looks back at Wyndam.

“I wonder sir, whether I might be allowed to retire for the evening if you have no further use of my services?” he enquires.

“No, you may leave us Hal, with my thanks.” Wyndam responds. Hal returns his attention to Robert and there is no expression on his face as he makes a brief bow and departs. Robert turns slightly to watch him leave the dining area. Once he has he turns back to Wyndam and his eyes glow. He grins.

“Where on earth did you find him?” he enquires.

“From the same place I found you,” Wyndam replies and he sees the interest that sharpens his gaze.

“Really? _He_ was at Mr Snow’s estate?” Wyndam inclines his head.

“He was.”

Robert’s expression turns speculative. “You must tell me more about him.” he invites him.

* * *

 

The house is quiet for the night. Wyndam and Robert sit in the library before the fire. Only a few candles are lit, offering the room an enclosed, almost cosy quality. Robert sits back in his chair and watches Wyndam do likewise. There’s a tap on the door and presently it opens. Both men watch the girl enter, carrying a silver tray of refreshments which she places on a table beside Robert’s chair. Robert gets to his feet and he smiles at her, a warm, secretive sort of smile which she returns.

“Grace,” Wyndam interrupts and obediently she turns in his direction. As he stands up, she curtseys formally. He takes a hand and brings her back to her feet.

“It is good to make your acquaintance again My Lord,” she murmurs. He looks into her normally lively dark brown eyes, her dark red hair like a spark of flame against her pale skin.

“And yours too. You are settling well in your new establishment?” He sees how she glances at Robert as he comes to stand beside her before she returns her attention to him.

“Very well my Lord,” she replies. Wyndam lets go of her hand. He is under no illusion as to how well settled she is here. There are few secrets he isn’t privy to.

“We have matters of importance to discuss with you perhaps in a day or two. I’m sure Robert has apprised you of the situation regarding Hal Yorke?” Again she looks at Robert.

“Just the barest of details sir,” she tells him.

“The barest of details is all that you need to know for now but we shall speak further, soon.” Grace bobs the barest of curtseys and takes her leave. Wyndam watches her depart.

“Does she still keep you on your toes?” he enquires. Robert’s answering smile is rueful.

“Constantly,” he admits and Wyndam smiles in response.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he replies and sees Robert’s look of mild surprise as he pours wine into two goblets. He approaches Wyndam and hands one of them to him. Wyndam waits until he’s seated in his chair beside the fire.

“So, what do you think of our Mr Yorke?” Wyndam enquires. Robert takes a sip of his wine and then looks at him.

“I haven’t spoken to him long enough to form a definitive opinion my Lord but what I have seen of him he is reserved and perhaps a little…prickly.” His response is cautious. A faint smile comes and goes across Wyndam’s face at his opinion.

“He is prickly because he does not trust easily but he possesses a quick mind, there’s a sharp intellect in there. He could be an interesting one,”

“I sense a but in there.”

“This business with the Yorke Inn. Thank you for that information by the way. It proved most enlightening.” He watches how Robert raises his goblet slightly in acknowledgment.

“It wasn’t difficult to discover with the information that you provided me with,” he answers.

“It also goes to show how diligent you can be with the sparsest of information; I gave you next to nothing to work with. I am most impressed,”

“And yet more praise, I am indeed honoured,” Robert murmurs with a half-smile and Wyndam smiles in response.

“You are very useful to me Robert. You were able to ferret out the information regarding Xavier and his band of restless recruits and play to his arrogance. That was dealt with by Hal too,” he tells him.

“It seems as though Hal has been a busy boy,” Robert comments.

“He is proving himself slowly but surely but I think to be truly the vampire I know he can become, he needs to vanquish the ghosts of his human life, he needs to put that behind him once and for all and that is where you and Grace come into the equation…”

* * *

 

Robert pauses beside the door of the library to see Bartholomew West picking up a sheaf of parchment that is littered on the floor. Beside it is an overturned ink pot and quill, with various volumes of books keeping them company.

“Is there a problem?” he enquires and Bartholomew’s head snaps up. He frowns mildly before he turns and places the papers on the desk. Robert sees the books that remain there, disordered and discarded. Bartholomew sighs and watches Robert enter.

“Someone was in a bad mood, anyone that I know?” He pauses beside the desk and he waits for an answer. Bartholomew glances at him again before he goes to pick up the books that also scatter the floor.

“Our esteemed apprentice woke up in that bad mood I’m afraid. My Lord Wyndam decreed he should spend an hour at his lessons and Mr Yorke did not like that idea and this was the result.” He straightens up, holding the collection of books against his chest. Robert observes him.

“He does this often?” He can imagine Edgar putting up with childish tantrums with his usual brand of no nonsense. Bartholomew shook his head.

“Not for a while. He’s usually a very good pupil. He absorbs and retains information with apparent ease but this morning he was not in the mood to…retain,”

“And this was the result? Interesting. Do you know where he went?” Bartholomew shrugs.

“Where he usually goes when he’s angry or frustrated, to see his horse,” he tells him.

* * *

 

Hal chases the lads out of the stable and approaches Achilles’ bay. A faint smile crosses his face as he approaches him and watches as the beast gives a whicker of recognition and pushes his head over the gate. Hal strokes his velvety soft muzzle and gives him the apple he’d appropriated from the kitchens. Achilles crunches on it eagerly and Hal feels the stresses of the morning begin to fade.

He had been tired when he’d returned to his chamber the previous night but perhaps in truth he’d been over tired. His slumber had been restless and filled with shadows and menace. Waking up in a strange place had not sweetened his mood. Then Wyndam had announced that he was to spend an hour under West’s tutelage and his mood had darkened further. He was under the impression that he was to have some time off over Christmas-tide. The extra lessons were not part of the agreement. He frowns, feeling the dark clouds encroaching. He is on the cusp of abandoning it all and leaving it all behind. He looks at Achilles. He can feel agitation poking at his spirit, tearing it into small pieces with sharp fingernails, succeeding in making him feel a little bit raw and exposed. Maybe a little while spent in the stables will rid him of his foul, out of sorts mood. He reaches for one of the small grooming brushes kept nearby.

“Ah, here you are.” Hal pauses briefly and quietly sighs when he hears Robert’s voice. He looks over his shoulder and sees him standing at the entrance to the stable block. He doesn’t respond and instead watches him approach him.

“You do know we have stable lads to do this sort of thing?” he chides as he sees the brush in his hand.

“Achilles is my responsibility, I prefer to take care of him myself,” Hal responds stiffly. Robert stops by the enclosure and looks at the horse.

“Achilles, a tremendous name for a tremendous beast. He’s very fine. I don’t blame you for wanting to groom him yourself but my boys _are_ paid to do this work,” he reminds him. Hal glances at him again.

“He isn’t the only horse here. I need to do this myself.” He returns his attention back to the animal.

“Bartholomew warned me that you’re not in a very good mood…”

“Which is why I am in here,” Hal interrupts sharply, pointedly.

“You are a prickly one aren’t you? I’m not about to scold you Hal. When I need some time by myself, I go into the gardens, into the furthest corner away from the house and sit hidden and I absorb the peace and quiet and allow myself to think,” he tells him. Hal doesn’t respond. Instead he opens the gate and goes into Achilles’ enclosure, talking quietly to the beast all the while. Robert remains where he is and just watches him.

“You killed James didn’t you?” He leans against the fence and watches how Hal seems to freeze. Once again he looks at him. Robert stares back, leaning his chin on his folded arms. He waits and sees what young Hal is willing to share with him. A moment ticks by.

“You were at Snow’s residence with him and Louis?”

“I was, a good twenty years ago. Wyndam collected me from there, Snow decided I was too rough-hewn and needed polishing and education,” Robert replies. He watches how Hal grooms the horse with sure bold strokes borne of years of practice.

“Sounds familiar,” Hal mutters without looking at him and Robert bites back a smile.

“Snow has his pets, his projects, those who he sees as having potential. I was one of them. Several years before I met Lord Wyndam, I attempted to rob Snow’s baggage train during a sojourn through England. He was impressed by my tenacity and my daring so dragged me along for the ride.” Hal stops grooming Achilles and he turns his head to look at Robert over his shoulder, his expression speculative.

“You tried to rob Mr Snow and you survived?” Robert straightens up and he smiles.

“I think I only survived because I had the audacity to. I was sired by vampire unknown; I thought to try and rob him and ended up worse off for it. I saw his black eyes and long sharp teeth and thought that I was a dead man. Then I woke up in a wood, covered in blood and completely disorientated.”

“But you were still a dead man,” Hal comments and Robert shrugs carefully.

“Of a kind. Instead of wanting to steal, I wanted to maim and kill and glory in their blood but I couldn’t understand why. And then I happened across Mr Snow and he enlightened me.” A faint smile briefly illuminates his pale face.

“And he introduced you to Wyndam.” Robert inclines his head.

“He said you killed James. Why?” Hal regards him for a moment.

“I thought he would have told you himself?” Hal challenges.

 Robert stares at him with clear blue eyes. “I want to hear it from you,” he clarifies and they stare at each other for another long moment. Hal then takes a breath.

“James thought that he could get the better of me. He tried to humiliate and discredit me so that he could take my place as Wyndam’s newest protégé. He lost,” he answers.

“How?”

Hal turns back to Achilles. “Ask Louis or Wyndam, they were there after all.”

“I’m asking you. James was old, not an Old One but he was old. It would take someone with considerable courage, strength and rage to end him. He was always ambitious, he always wanted advancement and he wasn’t above treading on toes to get there.”

Hal stops once more and again he looks at him.

“He tread upon the wrong toes this time. Wyndam believed in me, why I don’t know because he didn’t know me but he took a chance in me and succeeded. I ended James with a dagger through his throat,” he tells him. Robert watches him. He sees no pride in Hal’s eyes. He is matter of fact, almost circumspect about what he did. It sends a trickle of something down his spine and he sees what Wyndam sees in him; potential. It interests him. He takes a breath.

“You and I should talk over wine one evening while you are here. I think we have a lot in common,” he tells him. Hal regards him.

“Apart from Edgar Wyndam?”

Robert grins. “Apart from him but you interest me Mr Yorke, I think we could become great friends you and I.” Hal seems to weigh him up.

“We barely know one another,” he tells him. Robert leans forward very slightly.

“That could change. I could help you…that matter with Edmund Yorke? I’ve heard how it eats at your soul, how it intrudes upon your quiet times like a poison,” He watches Hal’s reaction, at how much paler he becomes at that dreaded name.

“How do you know…”

“Ah come now, you expect a vampire of Mr Wyndam’s standing not to send out enquiries about his newest protégé? You were a complete mystery to him and he asked me to make some initial enquiries, nothing as to alert suspicion you understand but enough,”

“And what is it that you know?” Hal’s words harden. Robert watches him, sees how he tenses.

“That you were born at The Yorke Inn, a brothel just south of here, and that Edmund was the proprietor. He’s still there you know, lording over that establishment. You and I could take another look whenever you wish. You’ll see for yourself,” he answers.

“Wyndam did not tell you anything else?” Robert tilts his head curiously.

“Only that you suffered intolerable cruelty. He didn’t go into any finer details, they are none of my business but whatever it is, whatever happened to you, it eats at you Hal and you will not find any measure of peace until you conquer what it is that haunts you. And as I have already said, I can help you with that.” He offers a quick, smile.

“You are my guest here Hal, you are welcome to come and go as you please. I would like for you to think on my offer and if you wish to speak further, come and look for me and we will talk more, over some very fine wine.” He bows slightly and leaves Hal in his wake.

 


	26. Chapter Twenty Six.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal meets Grace and Robert has a proposition.

**Chapter Twenty Six:**

“My Lord Hal.” The bow Wyndam makes is low and deferential. Hal watches as he lounges in his makeshift throne, a heavily carved and velvet upholstered chair seasonally decorated for the occasion

“My Lord Wyndam,” he responds, sitting more upright, his bronze green eyes alight with interest and mischief.

“How may I be of service to you this evening my Lord?” Wyndam enquires and Hal smiles very slightly. As Wyndam straightens, Hal sees the gleam in his eyes. Tonight is his last as Lord of Misrule and he has to admit, he has had a lot of fun in his temporary role.

There have been festivities arranged for each day of their visit here, banquets, dances, singing, games and other jollities and he has had Robert Grey by his side advising him on each event. He has to admit that despite earlier misgivings, Hal has slowly thawed to Robert’s almost constant companionship and allowed himself to enjoy his short reign.

“You will be servant for this celebration, until the clock strikes twelve,” he decrees. This time Wyndam nods his head with cool respect.

“As you wish my Lord,” he responds and turns away.  Hal watches him depart, a slight smile on his face.

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you?” Hal turns his head and looks into Robert’s blue eyes. His smile widens.

“Immensely,” he admits and Robert smiles in response.

“Enjoy it while it lasts because tomorrow you will once again be under his command,” he tells him. Hal turns his head back in Edgar Wyndam’s direction, to see him milling around the people present, a silver tray in his hand, dutifully delivering refreshments to them. He looks back at Robert who lounges on the chair beside him, also watching the festivities unfolding around them. It’s then he notices that Robert is watching someone. Hal’s eyes scan the faces present, wondering who it is that has attracted his attention. Then he sees her.

She’s dancing with someone he doesn’t recognise. She is clad in a gown of deep green silk and it is her hair that captures and holds his attention. It flows down between narrow shoulder blades in a deep red river. Part of it is drawn away from her face and held in place with pearl clasps. Hal straightens further in his seat as she turns in his direction and he sees smooth alabaster pale skin, high cheekbones and full lips. He sees how her attention flits over to them before she returns her attention to her dance companion. He glances at Robert to see him observing her, his eyes slightly narrowed, his body tense.

“Who is she? The one in green?” Hal enquires. A brief moment passes before Robert turns his head in his direction, the frown that had been marring his brow temporarily disappearing.

“Who?” His tone is distracted, his eyes far away and Hal barely reigns in his impatience.

“The girl in green, she’s breath-taking.” Hal looks back at her. She’s smiling at her companion, her eyes sparkling with mirth.

“She, Hal, is none of your business,” he responds in a tight voice. Hal looks at his friend once again and he frowns very slightly.

“I beg your pardon?” Robert looks at him again and he sees the irritation flare in his eyes.

“If you’ll excuse me?” He doesn’t wait for Hal to grant permission before he’s out of his seat and striding down towards the lady in green. Hal watches transfixed as Robert grabs her upper arm and drags her unceremoniously away, leaving her partner stranded with the other dancers. He observers them argue, short bursts of anger which culminate in the girl slapping Robert across his face and storming off. Hal slides out of his chair at this point and heads towards Robert who watches her stalk away, idly rubbing his cheek. He turns his head slightly as Hal approaches.

“She’s certainly fiery,” Hal comments coming to a stop beside him. He tries again. “Who is she?”

“Trouble,” Robert informs him.

Hal grins. “I must meet this firebrand. Does she have a name?” he enquires. He turns his head and he seeks her out but doesn’t see her. Her hair was bright like a beacon but it seems as though she has vanished into thin air. He looks back at Robert. “I’m still Lord tonight, I could command you to tell me,” he tells him. Robert lowers his hand from his cheek and he stares contemplatively at the young vampire.

“Let us get something to drink instead,” he attempts to divert his attention and it’s then Hal sees a flash of dark red hair and he is in pursuit. By the time he crosses to the back of the room, she has disappeared again and Hal stops and he frowns.

“Gentlemen,” Both of them turn and see Wyndam. His cool blue eyes take them both in. “Is there a problem?” he enquires politely. Robert casts Hal a mild look of annoyance.

“My Lord Hal is in pursuit of a woman…well I say _woman_ when in truth she seems to be nothing more than a _meddlesome_ _baggage_ sent here to be no more than a thorn in any man’s side,” Hal glances at him as Robert raises his voice slightly, his tone sharpening. He hears the faintest whisper, an intake of breath and Hal turns his head in its direction and listens but hears nothing more. He looks back at his companions to see how they regard him.

“Did you not hear that?” Hal demands and sees how both men frown mildly and exchange a look.

“Did we hear what my Lord?” Robert enquires with cool politeness and Hal frowns back at him. He then sighs and shakes his head.

“Perhaps I imagined it.” Wyndam takes a step towards him and places his hand under Hal’s elbow.

“More than likely you did. Now my Lord, there is a young lady present who I know would like to make your acquaintance. Her name is Susannah and she is visiting us from Scotland, I’m sure you will find her most refreshing.” He draws Hal away but the look he sends Robert is long and hard.

* * *

 

The celebrations are drawing to a close. Tomorrow everything returns to what is was before. Hal tries to keep his attention upon his companion but he is finding her deadly dull. She is a pretty thing with green eyes and dark brown hair but she talks far too much, he is sure that his ears are beginning to ache from all of her chatter. He wonders when he can make his escape and whether Wyndam will mind his departure. He knows full well his task here is to charm and flatter her and under any other circumstances he would be happy to oblige but he is still thinking about the red headed mystery girl.

“Excuse me, my Lord?” A voice interrupts his meandering thoughts and he idly turns his head in its direction and blinks when he sees her in front of him as if she’s materialised purely from his imagination. He sits up straighter in his chair and watches as she sinks into a deep curtsey. For a moment he cannot speak. She looks at him and then she smiles.

“Begging your pardon Lord Hal, the last dance of the evening is about to begin. I should like for you to join us as your final duty as host of this celebration?” she invites, and Hal sees how her eyes skip across to his companion and he sees the mischief there. It intrigues him. He gets to his feet and holds out his hand. The girl places hers into his and as he stands up, she also rises to her feet. She holds his gaze and she smiles.

“I don’t even know your name,” he comments as they cross the floor to join the other dancers waiting for them. She glances at him and another smile flashes across her face.

“My name is Grace my Lord,” she answers. They pause and Hal turns to face her. Up close she really is as breathtaking as he’d imagined.

“Hal, please call me Hal, I shall no longer be ‘my Lord’ once this celebration ends. I shall revert to being plain Hal Yorke,” he tells her.

“There is nothing plain about you my Lord but the name suits you. Shall we dance?” Hal turns his head and looks at the other dancers present. He hopes the lessons Wyndam put him through will be of some use.

“Lead on Grace,” he responds.

* * *

 

Robert folds his arms and stares at the couple in the centre of the dance floor and he sighs raggedly.

“I notice Grace is up to her usual tricks,” Wyndam comments as he pauses beside him. For a moment Robert doesn’t respond.

“You know that she doesn’t mean anything by it. It’s a harmless flirtation in retaliation for earlier in the evening. You did not win her approval by dragging her away from her dance partner like a jealous husband,” Wyndam gently chides. Wordlessly Robert looks at him.

“Hal is intrigued by her. He will have his heart broken if he isn’t more careful,” he then tells him. Wyndam rolls his eyes.

“I am sure Hal knows what he is doing. He doesn’t seem the type to give his heart to a person so easily or so quickly, it will just be sport to him.”

“This is _Grace_ my Lord, she also knows precisely what she is doing and she is only doing _this_ to provoke a reaction out of me, to make me jealous.” He returns his attention to the dancers.

“And is she?” Wyndam enquires but Robert does not respond.

“Hal was able to handle Maria with relative ease Master Grey, he will have Grace’s measure if not immediately, then very quickly, mark my words,” Wyndam continues but he can tell by Robert’s expression that he doesn’t quite believe him.

* * *

 

Hal can barely take his eyes off Grace as they dance. She dimples a demure smile in his direction as the dance begins.

“It is good to finally make your acquaintance Grace though I do get the impression that you were perhaps rescuing me rather than requesting me to accompany you in this dance,” Hal begins. He sees how her eyes twinkle with a smile.

“You did look bored in Susannah’s company sir, I thought that you’d appreciate the liberation.”

Hal’s smile is slow. “You are acquainted with Susannah?”

“Not very well I must admit, I know of her by reputation,” she answers.

Hal nods. “Yes, she is an experience to the uninitiated,” he confesses and Grace’s smile briefly widens.

“She is my Lord, she is. Your ears will recover in good time,” she teases and this time Hal’s smile is quicker to appear. He then sees how her gaze flicks off to the side; it is so quick that he almost misses it. Almost but not quite.

“I must say my Lord, the colour of your doublet is most becoming, it matches your eyes perfectly, such a flattering colour,” she comments. Hal doesn’t answer immediately and they continue to dance. It isn’t such a difficult thing to master, if one has the correct posture and coordination and more to the point, nobody is staring at him in a manner that would suggest otherwise. A faint smile crosses his face as understanding slowly dawns.

A moment or two passes as they go through the steps of the dance. To the unaware, she is giving the impression that he is the only person in the room for her. He isn’t unaware.

“I know what you’re doing,” he comments as the dance draws them closer to one another and he has the satisfaction of seeing a mild frown skitter along her otherwise smooth brow. He gently grasps her hand and bends his head towards her.

“Right at this moment Robert is standing nearby staring hard enough at us to cause us to burst into flame were it at all possible. I saw how he treated you earlier in the evening and how you rebuked him. I may be young Mistress Grace but I am no fool. Robert is my friend,” he murmurs to her and he has the satisfaction of seeing bald shock in her eyes. Hal gently smiles. Grace pulls her hand away from his and her expression promptly freezes.

“You are quite mistaken sir,” she informs him haughtily. Hal regards her, tilting his head slightly to the side as he does so.

“Am I Grace? You see, I was brought up in the company of women and I learned to read behaviour and recognise flirtation for what it is. This is what I see in you and I do not think I am mistaken.” He stops dancing at the same time as she does. All around them the dance continues as normal. No one is paying them any attention.

“I repeat sir, you are _quite_ mistaken,” she reiterates and he hears the ice in her tone. He watches as she gathers up her skirts and strides away from him in a manner befitting a queen.

Hal quietly sighs as he watches her before he takes his leave, going to join Robert and Wyndam, who stand not all that far away.

“Twice in one evening, that’s good, even for Grace,” Robert murmurs. Hal glances at him.

“She must keep you on your toes,” he comments. Robert regards him.

“I have to admit, you surprise me Hal, the stars were extinguished from your eyes far quicker than I would have imagined,” he replies. A faint smile crosses Hal’s face.

“Perhaps they were never there in the first place,” he corrects. He sees mild surprise brew in Robert’s eyes before he reaches out and pats the younger vampire’s shoulder.

“I think now is time for us to share some wine do you agree?” he enquires. Hal nods. Robert looks at Wyndam, “Care to join us my Lord?” They see how he looks between them.

“Another night perhaps, before we depart. As the midnight hour has now struck, it would seem the task of host falls upon my shoulders. Take your leave gentlemen and I shall see you both again in the morning.” A faint smile crosses his face and with a short bow, he leaves them be.

* * *

 

“Well you certainly had me taken in,” Robert comments as he hands Hal a goblet of fine red wine. Hal glances down at it before returning his attention to Robert.

“Taken in sir?” Robert takes the seat across from him and a faint smile drifts across his face.

“Your pursuit of Grace earlier, I thought for sure you were after an assignation,” he clarifies. Hal doesn’t reply and instead takes a sip of his wine. He then lowers his goblet and regards him.

“I saw how you were with her earlier in the evening. I guessed that there were emotions involved somewhere between you both; I just wondered how far you’d go in order to hide them from me,” he answers.

“Very astute,” Robert murmurs and Hal watches him take a sip of his wine. He shrugs.

“I watch people. I find that I learn a lot from it. I’ve had many instances where people have taken in my youth and judged me accordingly,”

“To our detriment,” Robert comments dryly. Hal raises his goblet, a slight smile on his face.

“To their detriment.”

“Have you thought any further about what we discussed in the stable when we first met?” Robert asks after a moment. Hal goes still as his eyes fix upon his.

“I have thought of nothing else,” he confesses.

“And?”

For a moment Hal doesn’t respond. He breathes in suddenly, sharply and for a moment he is very still. Robert gets the impression that he is battling with something. Hal then slowly exhales and his eyes are diamond sharp when they finally fix upon Robert’s face.

“The man made my life a living hell, selling my body to the highest bidder. He didn’t care; he wanted the profit he could get from me. He ruled me through fear and intimidation.”

Robert sits back in his seat and observes his friend. Hal looks down into his goblet again, frowning into its depths before he lifts his eyes to Robert once more.

“I have not confessed such secrets to any man, apart from Wyndam and even then not everything,” he murmurs with a faint laugh that holds no amusement.

“You have my vow that what you share with me this evening will not leave this room,” he assures him in a low voice. Hal stares at him for another long moment.

“I …suffer from terrors in my dreams. There have been times where I have woken in another part of my chamber, or with my hands around another’s throat and no memory of how it happened. I know it’s because of him. Edmund Yorke.” He spits out the name.

“You have the same second name, have you ever considered whether he sired you?” Robert enquires and Hal stares steadily at him. Then he shrugs.

“It has crossed my mind. He never did touch me but the taller I became the worse he became in his treatment of me. When I would refuse, he threatened to hurt Lizzie.” He clamps his mouth shut at her name.

“Who is Lizzie? Is she your mother?”

Hal shakes his head, “No. I wish that she had been. She looked after me in that place; I think she was the only one there who cared anything about me. It doesn’t matter anymore. She’s dead now.”

“You loved her."

Hal looks down again and shrugs. “Of a kind, whatever that means. She took care of me as a mother might do but she wasn’t the one who birthed me. She was the only one I held any affection for; he knew that and used it accordingly to keep me in line.”

“How did she die?” Robert’s tone is curious. Silence falls between them and the only sound in the room is the crackle of the fire in the grate. Hal then shakes his head and Robert doesn’t push further.

“Edmund Yorke scarred you Hal. Even though you own far greater power than he could ever dream of, he still haunts you and that needs to be corrected don’t you think?” Robert begins. He gets to his feet and approaches Hal, taking his goblet from him. He pours more wine into both and returns Hal’s to him. He watches him, Robert can see the wariness in his expression. He sits down on the chair beside him and looks into his eyes.

“You could walk into that place and rip out his throat and the throats of everyone in that establishment and none of them could stop you. What he did to you, what they all did to you, it would be your right to exact bloody, brutal revenge. He can’t hurt you anymore. Not in any manner. Don’t you want him to suffer most horribly for the evil he brought upon you?” He sees how Hal’s eyes gleam. He takes a sip of wine, his eyes never leaving his as he watches how he contemplates his offer.

“It would be so easy and so satisfying. I have the most perfect plan. Would you like to hear it?”

Another long moment drifts past. Eventually Hal nods.

Robert slowly smiles.

 

 


	27. Chapter Twenty Seven.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert's plan is set in action.

**Chapter Twenty Seven:**

The afternoon shadows grow longer in the fading light. Snowflakes gently tumble to earth in fascinating silent harmony. Hal ignores the cold as he briefly lifts his face up to them, feeling them brush his skin on their journey downwards. He opens his eyes and looks up to the heavy iron grey sky, bruised a sickly yellow brown in places that promise further snowfall. He slows as the building he seeks comes into view and turns his head slightly as he hears footsteps behind him.

“Thank God. For a moment I thought I had lost you,” Robert breathes. Hal glances at him as he comes to stand beside him.

“I assumed you knew your way here already,” he answers. Robert bends over at the waist slightly and draws air into his lungs for a moment before straightening and staring at him.

“Obviously not as well as you do Hal. You disappeared almost before my eyes and before I had the opportunity to gauge the direction you were heading in.” His tone is gently chastising but no apology issues from Hal’s lips as he looks away from him and Robert turns his head in the same direction, at the tall narrow building across the courtyard from them both. He watches the expression change on Hal’s face, can almost see the memories unfold in his gaze.

“Has it changed very much?” he enquires in a low voice and once more Hal glances at him before shaking his head.

“Not particularly.” He returns his attention toward the dilapidated building, at the grime and flaking paint. “It was never much to begin with even though Edmund was always well compensated.”  He glances up at the sky again. It will be dark enough soon.

Nothing has changed in the time he has been gone and he doesn’t know why that surprises him. The smells are the same; the acrid stink of the tanneries, the thick cloying reek of the slaughterhouses and the stench of the river; dense and fetid to the point of overwhelming. It catches the back of the throat, strong enough to make the eyes of the unfamiliar water. He’s forgotten that he needs to breathe through his mouth in places such as this.

“This place could do with a good blaze to solve its problems,” Robert murmurs but Hal doesn’t respond as his eyes once more take in his surroundings, held captive in the memories they evoke.

* * *

 

He watches the comings and goings with sharp eyed interest. Where is he? Why does he not show his disgusting face, is he hiding? Is he dead already, taken by an unnamed disease or pestilence? The thoughts pile up untidily in his brain. He keeps back far enough into the shadows not to be noticed but he doesn’t recognise any of these faces. It would seem that business is good despite the condition of the building. Sex always did pay well and always would it’d seem. The irritation bubbles up, heating him from the inside like a fever. He takes a step forward and halts almost as quickly as he feels Robert’s hand clamp around his upper arm. He turns to look at him and at the same time someone bumps into him. The force of the contact sends him staggering back but Robert holds onto him and stops him from falling. His arms automatically go around the person who bumps into him- a woman, soft and warm despite the inclement weather and he steadies her to prevent her from sprawling into the muck and slush at their feet.

“Be careful mistress,” he warns instead and observes how she looks up at him and she smiles mistily, gratefully up at him.

“My apologies sir,” she apologises and Hal inclines his head.

“No harm done, just be a little more mindful of your surroundings in future.”

 The woman smiles at him once more “Tis a cold night, surely you could spare a penny or two for a warming drink?” she enquires and Hal watches as she seems to give pause and peer more closely up into his face. “Unless you would prefer ... _special_ companionship this foul night, I’m sure we could find somewhere more private…my lodgings are not that far away if you wish?” she propositions with what she passes off as a flirtatious smile. Hal regards her and shakes his head.

“I think not,” he replies a little stiffly and frowns slowly as her examination of his face becomes more intense.

“I know you,” she murmurs and her eyes grow wide as recognition dawns. Her mouth drops open briefly before transforming into a grin that reveals several missing teeth. She huffs out a cackle that sends a shiver of revulsion down his spine. Hal stares at her with horrified fascination and wonders who she could be, this wretch who is nothing more than a collection of skin and bone and pock marked skin.

“I _do_ know you! By my stars, it’s young Hal Yorke…” she breathes and as she takes in his clothing, his bearing, the smile remains broad “All grown up too by the looks of things and it would seem quite the gentleman too .” Hal feels nausea churn in the pit of his stomach, a cold sweat breaking out down the length of his spine as he grapples for something to say in reply.  His mind reaches out for a name but comes up with nothing but a dark space and momentary panic claws at his brain.

“You don’t remember me? I ought to be hurt. It’s Margery Hal…” She watches his expression clear. He abruptly releases her and begins to take a step back.

“Of course, Margery,” he agrees. _Christ yes, now he remembers her._

“Hal?” He’s quite forgotten Robert’s presence in all of this and he turns to him and watches how he first glances at Hal and then takes a step towards Margery and he smiles, a wide, warm smile.

“Allow me to introduce myself mistress, my name is Robert, I’m a friend of Hal’s.” He takes her hand and raises it to his lips and Hal watches how Margery stares at him at first with wide eyed surprise before a pink blush stains her cheeks and she giggles. It sounds odd given the rough laugh of before.

“It has been quite a while since Hal last visited these parts I understand, I think him bumping into an old friend has quite robbed him of the ability to speak.” He looks at Hal over Margery’s head and stares hard at him before he returns his attention to her.

“We wondered whether Mr Yorke is in residence?” He indicates the building with a nod of his head and watches how Margery glances at it. She looks back at him and as she does, she shrugs.

“I would not know sir since I am no longer employed or welcome there, though as far as I know he still owns the premises,” she replies with a sniff. Robert and Hal exchange a look before Robert once again returns his attention to Margery and this time he holds out an arm.

“You suggested a drink earlier? Then let us get out of this foul weather and seek suitable shelter,” he invites again with that smile. Margery glances briefly in Hal’s direction before she slides her arm through Robert’s.  As they begin to walk she does not see the expression of disgust that crosses Hal’s face.

The inside of the alehouse is bright with noise, music and warmth. No one pays them any notice as the make their way inside. They commandeer a small corner away from prying eyes and ears but both vampires are vigilant nonetheless.

* * *

 

The ale tastes sour and Hal swallows it down with a slight grimace. He lifts his head slightly and observes Robert who sits beside Margery. He is on a mission to charm and win her over and Hal has to admit that he is very good at it. He watches how he holds Margery in his thrall as he leans towards her and admires his ability to make her feel as though she is the only person in this room for him. He watches as he flirts and smiles and laughs and she is lapping it all up, the fool. He shakes his head very slightly and looks back down at his ale.

“We didn’t think that we’d see you again Hal, after what happened to Lizzie.” At the sound of Margery’s voice, Hal snaps back to attention. He frowns briefly.

“ _We_?” He watches how Margery’s gaze sharpens upon his face.

“Edmund, Rosemary and the likes. You disappeared so completely that a story went around about how you met your end in the river, overcome with grief and guilt.” Her eyes gleam with malice. “But here you are. You look like you have done well for yourself which makes me wonder why you’ve returned to this place. It owes you nothing.”  Her tone becomes sly as she leans forwards.

“If people were to learn that you were back well it won’t end well for you, remember? They haven’t forgotten…” She lets her voice trail away to a whisper and Hal grows cold and still. Outwardly he seems unaffected but Robert sees the knuckles around the tankard he still holds, whiten.

“Well as you can see for yourself Margery, the stories of his demise were exactly that,” Robert interrupts and Margery tears her gaze away from Hal to look at him.

“It still does not answer my question as to what he is doing back here,” she replies waspishly and again Robert smiles his wide engaging smile.

“Because it’s a secret mistress, a wonderful _exciting_ secret. It is a matter of great importance and it was just your luck that you should happen upon Hal and myself this day,” he replies. He shuffles closer to Margery and leans in. “Can you keep a secret Margery?” he enquires, his tone intimate and conspiratorial. He waits and eventually, inevitably, Margery nods. Robert smiles in satisfaction.

“Well then,” he continues “we need to find somewhere where we can talk.”

* * *

 

She lives in a small room at the top of one of the narrow huddled buildings not too far from the alehouse. Margery walks ahead of them, a little unsteady on her feet as she climbs the staircase. Hal and Robert follow her, their senses keen and alert, watchful for any witnesses or interruptions.

“How can she still be walking? She drank enough to sink a galleon,” Robert murmurs. Hal glances at him.

“No thanks to you and your deep pockets,” he reminds him. Robert looks back at him and grins.

“We need to keep her amenable if we are to gather information but I have to admit that I’m slightly in awe of her ability to drink the way she has done tonight and still her thirst isn’t slaked.”

“Well then thank God you have bought more with you,” Hal comments dryly.

* * *

 

The room is little more than a hovel, containing a wide but broken down bed, its linen stained and foul smelling. There is a table and a pair of rickety looking chairs beside a small grimy window that offers a view, Hal imagines, of rooftops and little else. He scans the room with practised eyes as behind him, Robert continues to charm and flirt with their quarry. He remains beside the window and watches how he moves around the room, lighting candles and placing the jug of ale he’s purchased onto the table beside him. Their eyes meet for a moment and in that brief flick of time the humour and charm drop away to reveal cold intent. Then as he turns to look back at Margery, the humour is there once again. Hal observes as with great ceremony, Robert leads her to one of the chairs at the table and makes sure that she is seated.

Candlelight illuminates the small room, casting shadows about. Hal can hear the soft insistent beat of fat snowflakes brushing against the windowpane as the weather outside deteriorates. The room is bone cold and he draws his cloak closer around his body. Margery is settled at the table; Robert has plied her with more ale, his own barely touched cup in front of him. Hal has declined, vampire or not, he isn’t sure his stomach can stand much more of the sour brew.

“Now mistress, tell us what you know of The Yorke Inn. Has it changed very much since Hal’s departure?” Robert enquires. Hal remains standing beside the window and watches how her eyes lift to his before she picks up her own cup.

“It still makes money if that is what you wish to know,” she replies and takes a noisy sip.

“Sex does sell,” Hal murmurs.

“Well yes, you would know. Pretty boy like you, always popular,” she replies and he stares at her.

“Who runs the establishment? Is it still Edmund Yorke?” Robert interrupts as if sensing his friend’s annoyance though his back is to him.

“Of course it is, he and that slut of his…Rosemary,” Margery sneers in response and Hal stiffens.

“Rosemary? The same Rosemary of before?” he demands sharply and Margery looks at him once again.

“Of course the same Rosemary, there has been only one. She took over Lizzie’s reign though she has neither the courtesy nor the patience that poor Lizzie did.” She sends a sly look Hal’s way. “To see her you’d think she was the Queen of England never mind the regent of that cess pit,” she spits and takes another sip of her ale.

“Why are you so interested in that place all of a sudden? I did not think we would ever see you in these parts again, not after Lizzie,” she demands in a sharp voice.

“Because mistress, we plan to buy the establishment as a going concern of course. We need to learn the lie of the land, the personalities of those we have to deal with, how many are employed there. We need such information from those who know them and continue to know them,” Robert replies. He leans closer to her, resting his elbows on the table between them.

“It could be to your benefit,” he continues and Hal sees the calculation bloom in her eyes.

“Though I have to ask why you are no longer employed there,” Hal interrupts. Margery’s lip curls.

“If you must know, I was let go. The mistress of the establishment decided I was no longer suitable to work there. I had nothing to take with me except the clothes that I wore.” She laughs, a rusty, ill-used sound and at the same time she shakes her head.

“I thought Edmund was in charge of who was employed and dismissed?”

“He runs the establishment as always but now it’s Rosemary who does all of that. You’ve seen the outside of that place, believe me, nothing has changed on the inside,” she retorts scathingly. “She thought I was no longer suitable, the one who accused you of theft when she was nothing more than a base born thief herself,” she mutters. She then looks at Robert.

“She especially loves a pretty face but you must guard your money with your life, nothing is safe with her light fingers, even now but no one dares to complain.”

“I am sure you would be a much more suitable replacement Margery if you are interested in the position that is,” Robert tempts. Hal watches her closely.

“To run the whores as I see fit?” she demands. Robert nods.

“As you see fit mistress, and you will be well compensated,” he promises. Margery grins.

“It would seem today has indeed been my lucky day bumping into you Hal,” she comments and then she grins as she looks at Robert.

“Edmund is the one in absolute charge; Rosemary is in charge of the whores and the last I knew there were twelve girls there, none that you would know Hal.” She looks back at him “Except for Rosemary of course and she will surely love seeing your face again.” She grins as she returns her attention to Robert.

“She did not appreciate being dragged out of her bed by young Hal here, full of rage he was, accused her of thieving from him. Everyone heard, everyone saw.” Another mouthful of ale is noisily swallowed down. She looks back at Hal and slowly smiles.

“I was always very fond of you Hal, I’m sure you realised that. You were a special boy.” She watches how Hal stares at her and for a moment he doesn’t respond or move. Then he moves away from the window, further into the room, drawing the gaze of both Margery and Robert as he does so. He then slowly turns and looks at her.

“Was I? I don’t remember it that way,” he replies. He glances briefly at Robert. “Once I remembered your name, it came to me how you used to taunt me, mainly because you offered yourself to me and I would refuse,” he tells her. Margery’s smile fades away at the barb.

“I had to wait my turn didn’t I Hal, all of those men wanting a piece of you. As I said before, you were pretty. You’re handsome now but back then you were the prettiest thing and always in demand. I’m sure that was what you _really_ liked,” She glances Robert’s way and she grins again. “Perhaps once I’m in charge again, I should offer his services, name your price Robert, he will be worth every single penny,” she cackles.

Robert doesn’t respond and her laughter is loud in an otherwise silent room. She looks back at Hal.

“But you were such a good boy Hal; I was fond of you, that part is the truth.” Her eyes become round and she pales very slightly as she senses the change in the atmosphere, how tense it suddenly becomes.

Hal slowly approaches her and as he does, he nods.

“I _was_ a good boy. I ran errands for you and the other girls, I worked hard. I remember that.” He pauses in front of her and goes down on bended knee, holding her gaze, seeing glassy tears suddenly held hostage in those bloodshot eyes of hers. “I worked hard and I handed over almost every penny that I earned over to Edmund and for what? To be horribly abused by Edmund, by his fists and worse by those he called his friends. Some of them almost killed me, do you remember that day?” He leans in a little bit closer and he lowers his voice. “I was left on a bed drowning in my own blood and worse and it was Lizzie who saved me. She later told me that you also saw me lying on that bed and you only had the good grace to help because she demanded it of you, with a beating of your own if you refused. _She_ was fond of me Margery; she may have even loved me.” He tilts his head slightly to one side. “Afterwards you used to laugh at me. You would proposition me; take great delight in my discomfort, my bruises and what was done to me. That is what I remember about you and if that was your fondness for me then I hate to think what your enmity was.” He reaches out with one hand and touches her cheek, his thumb gently tracing the line of her cheekbone before lowering it. He rises to his feet in a smooth fluid movement and her eyes follow him up. Those tears in her eyes swell and spill over.

“I was a fool Hal, a young stupid fool. We have all made mistakes in our lives, in our past haven’t we? Surely we all deserve some kind of forgiveness?” She turns beseechingly to Robert as her voice trembles and Hal hears how her heartbeat skitters nervously. She’s beginning to realise the peril she has placed herself in, who she has in essence, sold herself to. Robert observes her with sharp interest but there is no empathy in his gaze. Hal moves around the chair until he stands behind her. She begins to rise and yelps when he grasps her shoulders and pushes her back down onto her chair again and holds her down. He leans forwards.

“Perhaps we do. Perhaps I should but there are some things in life that can’t be forgiven.” He glances briefly at Robert who still watches them, his expression bright with curiosity.

“You thought that it would be a lark to laugh at the boy who never knew his mother, who was used by men and left to die in that bed. _Poor unfortunate Hal._ ” His voice fades away and Robert sees a strange look cross his face and he knows that he is once more hearing those jeers in his head as clearly and loudly as the day he first heard them. It freezes him to the spot for a moment.

“I suppose I’m not the forgiving type.”

The snap of bone is sharp and brutal and Robert lunges off his seat to catch Margery as she falls of the chair. He scoops her up into his arms and sends Hal a reproachful look as he straightens up.

“A little prior warning perhaps Hal?” he chides. Hal watches as Robert carries her to the broken down bed and lays her upon it. He continues to observe as Robert then straightens her skirts and crosses her hands across her breasts in an almost pious manner. He then takes a deliberate step backwards.

“Sweet dreams dear lady,” he murmurs and he looks at Hal and he grins. He then pinches out the candle flame that burns on the small table beside the bed.

* * *

 

They emerge into the street and fade into the shadows mindful of any lurking night watch. Snow still falls and it crunches underfoot as they take their leave. Neither vampire speaks as they merge into the deepest of shade, moving silently and with a hint of urgency. No one pays them any attention and if they do then it’s a glance and nothing more. They are quickly forgotten and the falling snow covers their tracks.

A fire blazes invitingly in the library and Robert goes to it almost eagerly, his hands outstretched to embrace the warmth. Hal is slower in his approach and Robert turns his head and he looks at him. Hal stands in the centre of the room, his arms are folded tightly across his body and he is almost hunched over. His expression is dark, tortured.

“Hal?” He keeps his voice gentle and Hal looks at him. Robert slowly walks towards him and Hal watches as he does. He frowns deeply.

“I do not need your pity,” he hisses at him and Robert stops, a quizzical expression on his face.

“My pity? I was not aware that I had given it,” he answers carefully.

“Perhaps not but I see how you look at me…you are remembering what was shared with you both last night and tonight…”

“And I promised you that I would not divulge any of that information to anyone else and that promise still stands. Hal, you need to calm down.” He gently grasps his upper arms. Hal pushes him away and Robert watches, mildly alarmed at the emotions currently raging through his friend.

“I will kill you if you do, make no mistake!” Hal hisses, his eyes over bright, his fury surging. He then pauses and then takes a deep breath. “It’s being so close to that place…I wanted so much to go into that place and…” Robert listens to the rage that fills Hal’s voice; it’s boiling so close to the surface. He takes a breath and he strides towards him. He grabs him again and puts his hands on his shoulders and he stares at him, into his eyes.

“This evening was about gathering information, you know that. I know you would have liked to have gone into that place and created carnage but it would’ve been reckless, impulsive and ill thought out and that makes it dangerous. We need a plan Hal, for it to be successful and for you to achieve your vengeance. You _must_ be patient.” He sees how he stares at him, feels how he trembles beneath his hands like a horse ready to race and be free. He gives him a little shake.

“I need for you to be patient and also to trust me and to trust Wyndam. With pure rage firing your blood will only succeed in making mistakes and in drawing the wrong sort of attention and I am not only talking about my Lord Wyndam. It will make him angry of course but any unexpected trouble will only succeed in attracting the attention of an ecclesiastical nature and believe me, you do _not_ want that on your head as well as Wyndam’s wrath.” He squeezes Hal’s shoulder gently and sees the internal battle his friend seems to be fighting.

“You will have your vengeance Hal and I swear I will help you to wipe them off the face of London, to grind their bones into dust but you _must_ calm yourself first. Let me call for some wine and we’ll sit beside the fire and talk of it some more.” He releases his hold on him and turns to leave.

“I’m tired, I think I’ll retire to my chamber for the evening,” Hal responds in a low voice and Robert looks back at him. As quickly as the anger has ignited his blood then it seems to have dissipated. Hal’s expression is troubled, still dark.

“As you wish,” Robert responds and watches him leave.

* * *

 

The small group stand in the library. The fire has burned down but no one has noticed.

Wyndam stands in the centre of the group, the others gathered around him in a small conspiratorial huddle. He listens as Robert speaks, staring at him with intense unblinking concentration.

“The time to move is now my Lord. I fear if we do not move soon then Hal will react of his own accord. His anger is bubbling beneath the surface and the slightest thing could ignite it. We should strike while the iron is hot,” Robert informs Wyndam who watches him. His expression remains pensive as he taps his lower lip with one long finger. Then he comes to a decision and he nods, a short rapid movement and as he does he turns and he looks to Louis who stands obediently to attention.

“You are instrumental in making sure that Hal remains under control do you understand me?” he instructs. The tall vampire nods obediently. Wyndam takes a couple of steps towards him. “Hal usually has control but under these particular circumstances you must stay with him and keep him calm until everything is in place. You owe him that.”  He watches as Louis nods again.

“Do not let me down Louis, I do not tolerate failure of any description,” he warns.

“I will not let you down my Lord,” Louis promises.

Satisfied, Wyndam then turns to look at Grace. “Are you ready my dear?” he asks. The girl looks to both Wyndam and Robert and she nods.

“I’m ready my Lord,” she confirms. Wyndam slowly smiles and he turns again to once more encompass the group.

“Then this is what we must do…”

 

In his chamber, Hal Yorke paces.

 

 

 


	28. Chapter Twenty Eight.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins....

**Chapter Twenty Eight.**

“You wished to see me sir?”

A moment passes and all that can be heard is the scratch of a quill against parchment and Hal is forced to wait with barely contained patience. After what feels like an indeterminable amount of time Wyndam finally raises his head and he looks at him. For a moment his pure blue gaze drifts over Hal’s paler than usual countenance.

“How are you today Hal?” he asks. He sees the mild frown that comes and goes across the younger vampire’s face as he regards him.

“As I always am my Lord, I am well,” he responds with scrupulous politeness. Wyndam drops the quill and leans back in his chair, fingers steepled together, to regard his charge further.

“Last night’s terror and upheaval was a figment of my imagination then?” he enquires and sees, as expected, the shutters come down over Hal’s eyes, how he briefly looks away. Hal tucks his arms behind his back and Wyndam notices how he resists the urge to rock back on his heels.

“I don’t remember,” he mutters instead and Wyndam sighs and pushes himself to his feet.

“That is the problem young Hal, you never do.” He skirts around the corner of his desk and comes to stand in front of him.

“The whole house was in uproar; Louis was only just successful in preventing you from throwing yourself over the staircase bannister.” His voice is gently reproachful and when Hal eventually raises his eyes to look at him, Wyndam sees the remnants of fear that his night terror created, lingering in his eyes. He is lying when he claims he doesn’t remember, Wyndam suspects he just says it to avoid having to think about it or explain it.

“That is not my fault sir, I never remember the contents of these terrors once I wake up, I just seem to be somewhere different from where I started,” he confesses and doesn’t tell him that he had woken up this morning cold and stiff wedged in a small space between a chest and the wall in the furthest corner of his chamber and crawled back into his bed before Louis had stirred from his pallet at the foot of it.  Wyndam doesn’t reply and Hal resists the urge to squirm. He sometimes thinks that his patron has the ability to read his mind and guess his thoughts accordingly.

“As it is Hal, I didn’t summon you here to ask after your health. I have a task for you to undertake.”  He folds his arms and regards him.

“I need for you to represent me,” he begins and he sees the look of surprise that crosses Hal’s face, quickly masked.

“Represent you?” Wyndam nods, leaning his hip against the edge of his desk.

“Mr Northwood, Mr Harcourt and Mr Norton arranged a gathering some time ago when they first heard that I was planning on visiting Robert. I had planned on attending but unfortunately circumstances have meant that I am now unable to. I am after all a very busy man.” He indicates the pile of paperwork occupying his desk. He regards Hal.

“Could the gathering not be arranged for another night perhaps?” Hal suggests and Wyndam straightens up and shakes his head at the same time.

“No, sadly not with my schedule as it is, is quite full, it would not be possible. They understand of course but then I suggested that perhaps you should take my place instead and they were very interested.” He sees the confusion that crosses the younger vampire’s face.

“I thought you would prefer Robert to attend instead of someone such as myself. Why would they be interested in me?”

“Surely you jest Hal? My newest apprentice, one with such a reputation already? They should like to pick your brain; find out what it is that makes you tick. Within reason of course,” he tacks on when he sees his expression begin to change. He takes a step towards him and places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it very gently.

“Robert is indisposed this evening and I would consider it a great personal favour Hal if _you_ would do this for me.” His voice lowers, gentles but Hal hears the command nevertheless. He sighs loudly and then he nods.

“Of course,” he agrees. Wyndam smiles briefly, brilliantly and releases his hold on him. He takes a step back and begins to turn back to his desk.

“You should take Meriel with you.” He glances back over his shoulder to see his look of confusion. “She’s Grace’s maid,” he clarifies.

“Grace has a maid?” Hal mutters and Wyndam rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“She does and her name is Meriel. She has a special anniversary very soon and I like to reward my most loyal of staff. Take her with you, she enjoys the company of my previous protégés and they hers.”  Hal stares at him, a curious, contemplative expression on his face. Gradually it clears and he inclines his head.

“Very well my Lord,” he agrees.

* * *

 

He stands in the library and awaits the arrival of his companion as instructed. He turns his gaze to one of the book cases and while his eyes take in the variety of titles they do little to hold onto his attention. Something is different about the house this evening, something that he can’t quite put his finger on. He ponders on it for a moment, speculating on how he could pick up on such a notion given that he is only a guest here but somehow he can. Perhaps if he could locate Robert he could ask but his friend has proven to be very elusive this evening.

“You look very handsome this evening Hal.” He is pulled out of his thoughts by Grace’s voice and as he turns, he watches as she approaches him. He looks down at the plain black doublet and breeches that is his attire for the evening.

“I have an…engagement to attend, with your maid as it happens. I didn’t know you had a maid,” he replies. She smiles very softly.

“Well now you do and you had better take very good care of her,” she answers. She watches the speculation brew in his eyes, the slight smile that tilts his lips in contemplation. He leans towards her.

“Or you’ll do what?” he speculates in a low voice. Grace’s smile widens when she sees the twinkle appear in his eyes.

“Or you do not want to know,” she answers lightly. He regards her, his smile slowly widening and then it is gone.

“I will take the greatest of care of her, I promise,” he tells her solemnly.

“I know you will which is why Wyndam chose you for the task at hand,” she tells him.

Hal frowns. “Task?” His voice sharpens. Grace looks up at him with her strange black- brown eyes and she sighs as she rolls them.

“Task…engagement…you are escorting her this evening at Wyndam’s request. It will be to your advantage Hal and you will be well rewarded.” She pats his chest and then turns when they both hear the quiet knock on the door.  She smiles at the girl who waits just inside of the room. “Meriel,” she greets and her maid smiles in response.

“Grace,” she answers quietly.

She’s pink and white, Hal realises as Grace brings her over to meet him. Her skin is milk pale, a faint flush of pink dusting her cheeks and her eyes are an interesting shade of pale green. Her hair, what he can see of it beneath the hood, is a reddish gold and in the deep green gown that she wears, she rather reminds him of an apple.

“Hal, your companion for the evening, Meriel. Meriel, this is Henry Yorke, known to everyone as Hal,” Grace introduces. Hal bows his head as Meriel bobs a tiny curtsey.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance mistress,” he murmurs in response.

* * *

 

It’s a short walk to Jonathan Northwood’s residence where the gathering is to be hosted and therefore there is no need to ride there. Hal offers his arm to Meriel and with a smile she takes it as they depart. Louis walks behind them, watchful, a somewhat comforting, guarding presence. Another member of the household walks a few strides ahead of them, a lantern in his hand to guide them on their way. They are all quiet, watchful.

“You’re very quiet Hal,” Meriel comments after a while. Hal glances at her, a little taken aback.

“You expect me to prattle mindlessly, pay false compliments that would only serve to discomfort and embarrass you?” he replies and she looks at him. She smiles softly.

“Of course not. My Lord Wyndam does not choose his apprentices for their abilities to babble, quite the opposite but you seem…distracted somewhat,” she responds.

“I suppose I find I have very little worth sharing mistress,” he confesses after a moment or two.

“It isn’t a fault sir, it is quite a change to be allowed to be lost in one’s thoughts,” she tells him and this time he looks at her, a slight frown marring his brow.

“I forget sometimes to be more sociable, it’s a skill that I need to improve upon,” he tells her in a slow voice. Again she glances at him.

“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to improve upon it Hal. Your quietness in nature was purely an observation, not a criticism. It could be seen as an asset.”

“You have been in Grace’s service for long?”  Hal enquires.

“Since she joined my Lord’s household. I was not long in his employment myself when she came to his residence and he paired us together and we’ve been companions ever since. It’s a good match; she’s kind to me and is fair,”

“She seems to be exactly that, as well as head strong and opinionated,” Hal agrees and Meriel smiles.

“My Lord Wyndam doesn’t appreciate weaklings in his service Hal, he prizes strength and intelligence above all and does not tolerate any signs of weakness, none at all.” Hal looks at her once more.

“How long have you been in his service Meriel?” he enquires curiously.

“Fifty years now,” she tells him.

“And you are one of his….” His voice fades away as he struggles to think of the polite term.

“Recruits? Yes I am. He takes care of me, of all of us,” she answers.  They walk for a little longer.

“Then you must have known Robert…when he first came under Wyndam’s influence?”

“Yes I did. Robert as you may have noticed, has the devil in him. He can charm the birds from the trees if he puts his mind to it but if you cross him then he will turn against you so completely and maliciously, you will wish you had never been born. His smile causes many a heart to flutter, both with desire and fear,” she confides. Hal glances at her as she continues to talk.

“The moment he saw Grace, he had to have her but she did not make it easy for him. She still does not but it is a love match of a kind. They fight like the most bitter of adversaries but they belong to each other completely.” A smile drifts across her face and she looks up at him once more. “Woe betide the man or the woman who tries to come between them.”

* * *

 

Edmund Yorke has an important engagement this evening and if all goes according to plan then his life will change beyond measure.

The first meeting with his potential benefactor happened purely by chance, a tall well-dressed fellow coming to his aid against cut throats intent on robbing him of his money and valuables and perhaps even his life. Without an ounce of fear on his pale face he’d grabbed them in turn by their throats and shook them like rats and a hissed warning along with such a look in his cold eyes as to put the fear of God into the souls of the least fervent of believers. They’d disappeared without another word spoken.

He still doesn’t quite believe how quickly things progressed from there. He introduced himself as Edgar Wyndam and had ended up in a nearby tavern sharing a jug of wine and they talked or, as he later realised, he had talked and his newest friend had listened and then revealed that he was a business man, new to the area and looking for a worthwhile investment. He wondered whether he, Edmund Yorke, knew of such an investment.

They had departed much later in the evening, his belly filled with good wine, his heart filled with faint hope but several days passed and he began to think that perhaps the gentleman had changed his mind and found investment elsewhere. Then early this morning he received a visitor. He was a tall, reasonably handsome young man with dark curls and bright eyes. Rosemary had taken one look at him and it was as though she had suddenly come to life. She fluttered around him, offering him wine, flirting and flattering. It was downright embarrassing at times but the young gentleman had taken it all in his stride, smiling at her, scrupulously polite which was more than the old hag had deserved. Once Rosemary had left them alone the young gentleman had issued an invitation, that his master was hosting a small gathering of close friends, people of influence and he requested his presence. He wished to further discuss with him the investments they had previously spoken of and that it would be to his advantage. Of course he had all but fallen over himself to accept, to be in the company of success with the possibility of some of that success coming his way, he would regret turning the invitation down. A niggling voice murmured at the back of his mind warning him to take caution but he ignored it. Perhaps this will be his opportunity, to better himself, to leave all of this behind.

He arrives at the allotted time and his eyes grow round at the size of the residence. It would seem that Mr Wyndam is indeed a man of great fortune. As he dismounts, the front door opens and as a young stable lad leads his horse away, he sees Mr Wyndam and the dark haired visitor of earlier come into view. He takes a deep breath, all of a sudden unaccountably nervous. Then Mr Wyndam smiles and it is a wide, bright flash that catches him momentarily by surprise. He walks towards him, a hand outstretched.

“Mr Yorke, welcome to my home.”

* * *

 

“Is everything to your satisfaction Hal?”

Hal turns his head in the direction of the solicitous voice and his eyes fix on Jonathan Norton. He looks into his blue eyes and the sparest of smiles tilts his lips.

“More than satisfactory Jonathan, I have been treated like a prince this evening,” he replies in a low voice. He sees the glimmer of satisfaction that appears on his host’s face before it disappears and he returns his attention to the dancing going on in front of him. Meriel is in the centre of it all, dancing with grace and finesse opposite Charles Harcourt. He wonders whether he is sweet on her as she seems to be the only one here who can coax a smile out of him.

He was stiff with apprehension upon his arrival. He prefers to remain in the shadows, unseen and able to observe. This evening he can do none of that. He should be used to the speculation that he sees upon the faces present, Wyndam’s latest apprentice and no doubt word of his deeds overseas has spread. Yet he has been treated with the utmost respect and courtesy and he has found that he has somewhat enjoyed it. Perhaps they think if they were to upset him in some manner then it would incur Wyndam’s wrath. Perhaps they think him completely under his patron’s influence that he would fight his battles for him. That will never happen. He reaches for his wine and takes a sip, absently noting the quality. No expense has been spared this evening and for once he enjoys it for what it is.

* * *

 

The house is far grander than anything Edmund Yorke has ever imagined before. Mr Wyndam is obviously a man of means, of greater means than he’d initially taken him for and he feels fresh excitement tremble in his stomach. The rooms are ablaze with warm welcoming light and he stands in the middle of the hall and watches how the staff rushes around, eager to do their master’s bidding without a sour look or turned up lip. This man is greatly respected by his servants and he envies that somewhat. His head turns as someone joins Mr Wyndam and his dark haired companion. Her beauty fair steals the breath from his lungs. Her skin is pale and luminous with thick long hair of the deepest shade of red. She wears a fine gown of a shade of greenish gold that sets off the fire in her hair. He watches, quite spellbound as she goes to stand beside Mr Wyndam and turns her curious gaze upon him. Her eyes are quite dark, almost black in their colour. With her slender figure, that skin and hair, she could make him a pretty penny on her back at the Inn and he wonders whether he could persuade Mr Wyndam to make her part of their bargain. They would be queuing up and down the street for a piece of her.

“Mr Yorke, you’ve already met my ward, Mr Robert Grey,” Wyndam begins and Edmund looks to the young man from earlier and sees a hint of ice in his expression. He nods and Robert nods in response. Wyndam observes with a faint smile and then he looks at Grace and he takes her hand, drawing her a step forward, as if to show her off. “I must introduce you to my daughter, Grace,” he continues and he sees the flare of surprise in Yorke’s eyes. Beside him, Grace curtseys deeply, sinking almost to the floor. No doubt to give Yorke a glimpse of her other charms. Wyndam doesn’t smile and he holds more tightly onto her hand as she straightens up.

“It’s an honour to make your acquaintance Mr Yorke,” Grace murmurs in a low voice.

“And yours also Mistress Wyndam,” Edmund replies.

To his approval, Grace is seated to his left and he can barely contain his satisfaction as he waits for her to sit down. Mr Wyndam sits at the head of the long table and opposite him is his ward accompanied by a fellow briefly introduced to him as Grace’s tutor. He watches the servants go about their tasks, making sure that food and wine is plentiful and, as the evening progresses, both are indeed in plentiful supply and of excellent quality. The servants are quiet, obedient and suitably deferential and it makes him think back to the Inn, listening to the bellyaching of the girls, their laziness that only a clip around the ear will cure and he wonders what Mr Wyndam’s secret is and if he asks, would he share it with him?

The plates are cleared and more wine is brought to the table. Nobody speaks as cups are filled. Edmund watches each of them, the flicker of candlelight casting shadows across each face. Mr Wyndam’s ward has thawed somewhat as the meal progressed, becoming more lively as the evening went on to the point where Edmund wonders whether he imagined the ice of earlier. He has also noticed how his attention constantly slides to his companion and if she herself has noticed it, she has not made a comment. He wonders whether he is sweet on Mr Wyndam’s daughter.  He bites back a grin of delight. Wouldn’t it be fun to tease him of it a little bit?

“Mr Yorke. Let us get down to why I invited you here this evening,” Mr Wyndam announces and Edmund is snapped out of his increasingly lascivious thoughts as he looks in his direction. Mr Wyndam sits in his fine chair, clad in black clothing, raven like, the slightest of smiles on his cold narrow pale face.

“Business.”

* * *

 

Meriel dances very well, Hal realises. He smiles at her, feeling a little relaxed by the wine in his stomach. He has drunk sparingly but what he has drunk has been of very good quality. His patron will be pleased that his latest protégé has been very well taken care of this evening, feted almost. He isn’t drunk but he almost feels as though he is. Meriel smiles back at him. Perhaps it has been because of the company.

Neither of them notices Arthur initially, not until Jonathan approaches them, placing a careful hand on Hal’s shoulder and murmuring in his ear that he requests his company immediately. Hal turns his head and sees him standing beside his earlier vacated chair, a tense expression on his face, his spine absolutely straight and Louis has appeared beside him. They both watch Hal approach.

“Is there a problem Arthur?” he enquires. The taller vampire regards him for a moment.

“My Lord Wyndam requests your presence back at the house Hal, he says it’s a matter of great urgency,” he informs him in a low voice and if at all possible, Hal’s frown deepens and he looks around and sees Meriel standing by his shoulder. He then looks at Jonathan.

“If he requests your presence Hal, you mustn’t let him down. You must leave at once,” he counsels and Hal just nods.

* * *

 

The house is in darkness as the four of them approach it. He follows Arthur inside and pauses just inside the threshold. He listens for a moment. He can’t hear anything, the house is silent and it is the strangest thing. It is too early for the house to be this quiet, there is usually something going on, whether it’s Wyndam working in the study, laughter and conversation between Grace and Robert or the general sounds of the household. This silence is vaguely unsettling. Arthur pauses a few feet in front of him and looks at him from over his shoulder.

“This way Hal,” he urges. Hal dutifully follows but his steps falter once again when he smells it, the unmistakeably thick, sour coppery scent of blood, fresh blood and he feels his darker self begin to surge forwards. His hearing sharpens when he hears the faintest of heartbeats, fluttering like a frightened bird in a cage.

What in God’s name is going on? Is Wyndam in danger?

“Hal!”

He lifts his head when he hears Grace’s whispered voice. She stands several feet away from him at the bottom of the staircase and she has a lantern in one hand. She lifts it slightly and it casts an unholy light across her face. She smiles at him and she holds out her other hand.

“At last. Come with me,” she urges with a twitch of her fingers and Hal frowns again, tilting his head to one side.

“Why? Where are we going?” Grace sighs quietly and approaches him. She takes his hand.

“Don’t question, you must come with me, my Lord Wyndam has the most wonderful surprise for you,” she tells him. She casts a look to Arthur, Louis and to Meriel before leading him up the staircase. He follows obediently, his mind full of questions. Obviously Wyndam isn’t in any danger as there is no sense of urgency about Grace, no fear. He wonders where Robert is.

A door is partially open further along a corridor to the right and he can hear someone groaning in pain. He can hear Wyndam’s voice, as cold as ice, steadfast, demanding someone to sign something. Grace leads him to it and for a moment they both stop and Grace lets go of his hand. Hal looks at her.

“Go inside. It’s all for you,” she murmurs and gives his shoulder a little push.

Hal crosses into the room cautiously, peering around the half open door as he does so. He sees Robert bent over someone seated in a chair and there is a knife in his hand that drips blood onto the bare wooden floor boards. Wyndam stands just to Robert’s left and all Hal can see of the other occupant are legs clad in hose and boots, the source of the faint fluttering heartbeat and the blood. He can hear his patron’s tone become more persuasive, telling the occupant that what they are doing is the right decision. He hands the person a quill. A brief moment ticks by.

“My Lord?” Hal enquires in a low, guarded voice. Wyndam spins around and he holds a piece of parchment which he is in the process of rolling up.

“Hal!” he greets and he smiles brightly at him. Hal continues to frown. He watches Robert lift his head and he looks Hal’s way. His eyes are still a polished black and he grins, the fangs on full display. Hal looks back to Wyndam.

“Arthur said you requested my presence, that it was of great urgency,” he begins.

“And I do,” Wyndam responds. Hal looks back to Robert. The scent of blood is cloying, overpowering and making his head swoon. His mouth begins to water.

“Who is that?” he enquires, pointing to the chair’s occupant. He watches as Wyndam turns and Robert looks down.

“Come and see for yourself,” Robert invites and Hal takes a couple of steps closer, skirting around Wyndam as he does so. He stops when he sees, begins to recognise. He’s older, heavier and greyer but it’s unmistakeable. Fear clenches at him momentarily to be replaced by revulsion.

“Edmund,” he whispers.


	29. Chapter Twenty Nine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hal has his revenge but not without a final twist of fate.

**Chapter Twenty Nine.**

He stares at him for a long moment, quite unable to believe that he is here in this house. He waits for Edmund to lift his head to look up at him, for recognition to dawn. He waits for him to realise the danger of the situation that he is in. Despite himself, he feels the familiar fear begin to crawl through his senses. He remembers how weak it made him feel and the recalled terror holds him momentarily rigid.

“He can’t hurt you Hal remember that. He can try but he’d fail,” Robert quietly reminds him. Hal glances at him to see him standing upright. His white shirt is streaked with blood; it’s smeared along his sleeves as well as dripping from his hands.  Hal watches him lick his fingers.

“You know that he speaks the truth, you’re the one with the power now,” Wyndam adds, coming to stand beside him. Hal looks at him. Wyndam holds out the roll of parchment that he has been holding.

“And look, you are a man of property now Hal…The Yorke Inn belongs to you.” He pushes it into his hands. Numbly Hal unrolls it and looks down at it and sees that it is in fact the deeds to the property. He looks back at Wyndam in shock.

“This was your plan?” He sees Robert come to stand beside him and the older vampires regards him.

“He took _everything_ from you, including your pride and your dignity. It is only fair to do the same to him,” Robert responds evenly. Hal looks back down at the document for a moment before returning his attention to them both.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he whispers. Wyndam pats his shoulder.

“Whatever you please Hal, the power of life and death is in your hands,” he murmurs. He glances at Robert.

“It is time we took our leave and left Hal and his friend to be reacquainted; he has waited long enough for it.” Hal remains rooted to the spot as they both depart. He turns his head and looks to the prone figure slumped in the chair.

* * *

 

He can hear him gasping for breath, underneath all of that gore and bruising Hal is surprised Edmund still lives. They have really taken pleasure in their torture judging by the blood staining his clothing, the bodily fluids puddled around his feet. He must have been scared senseless when he realised what they were.

He feels his head begin to ache and with the heel of one hand he rubs absently at the side of his head until it gradually fades away.  Hal slowly smiles. He wishes he had seen that dread for himself, seen his terror with his own eyes.

He drags a chair from the opposite side of the room and places it opposite the barely conscious man. He sits down and he waits.

Hal watches him stir and observes with interest the moment Edmund becomes aware of his surroundings. He waits as he opens bruised eyes and fixes them upon him.

“Good evening,” he greets calmly. Hal sees how he looks at him, trying to remember where he’s seen him before. He pretends to pout.

“Don’t you remember me old man? I should feel insulted.” He keeps his voice calm and low. He watches how he blinks.

“You must help me…the gentleman of the house and his companions…they are abominable monsters and have injured me most grievously. They have robbed me and mean to kill me. Please sir, I beg of you,” Edmund whispers in a hoarse, panicked voice. For a moment Hal doesn’t say anything in reply, he just stares at him and then he smiles very softly and tilts his head to one side.

“Why do you think they did that hmm? Or more to the point _who_ do you think they did that for?” Hal responds quietly, leaning forward in his chair. His smile disappears like mist exposed to sunlight “You still don’t recognise me do you? Has it been that long? Have I _really_ changed that much?” He waits and then he slowly smiles once more when he sees recognition begin to dawn.

“There you are. It’s been a while old man.”

“ _Hal_?” Edmund whispers tremulously.

“In the flesh. Surprised to see me?”

“But…I heard rumours…you drowned yourself in the river…after….”

“After I what? Robbed you? Killed Lizzie? We both know I did neither of those things Edmund…I remember Rosemary with her light fingers…Tell me has she changed very much?” He shakes his head “Actually…no…don’t tell me, I look forward to discovering that nugget of information for myself very soon.” Hal gets to his feet and he reaches behind himself and he pulls the ever present knife from the back of his breeches.

“You didn’t think that you would ever see me again did you? And if I’m completely honest then for a long time I didn’t intend to return. Initially I just planned to survive and not die of cold, starvation or some unforgiveable disease. I did none of those as you can see; such was the remarkable gift that was bestowed upon me.”  He holds his arms out to the side as if to bow.

“Please….Hal…” Edmund wheezes and Hal sees the blood that bubbles onto his lips.

“Please _what_ Edmund? Please help you? Why should I do that…how could I possibly benefit from helping _you_? You wouldn’t help me, remember? In fact I seem to remember you did everything in your power not to…” He tightens his grip on the knife handle as he moves closer to him and crouches down in front of him. He can smell him, his fetid odour, his sourness and his greed. He can smell all of these and see much more. He can see his terror, the same emotion that he used to take great delight in creating in him.

“That emotion you’re experiencing right at this moment? That pounding in your heart, that feeling that holds you prisoner…the sensation that if you weren’t bound to that chair then you would be running for your life…do you know what that is?” He waits but Edmund doesn’t respond instead he stares at him and all that can be heard is the sound of his quickened heavy breathing. Hal leans forward.

“That’s fear,” he whispers. “The same fear that held me prisoner every single day I was under your roof. You and those who paid you abuse me. I lived with it every single moment, never knowing from one instance to the next when you swung your fists whether I would be alive at the end of that day. That last time just about did me in, do you remember that? Do you remember what they did to me, how many of them there were? You stood in front of that door while they beat me with their fists, while they each took their turn with me and left me on that bed bleeding, bruised, barely breathing…do you _remember_?” His voice trembles as the anger begins to flow through each word. He lets his eyes flood black and he smiles when he hears Edmund’s gasp of terror, his fangs bright sharp and white.

 “Have mercy…please Hal…” Edmund whispers as Hal presses the tip of the blade on the underside of his flabby chin.

“ _Mercy_? You showed me none so why should I afford you any? ” Slowly he draws the point of the blade down, scoring the skin as he does so. Bright red blood oozes in its path down to the hollow of his throat. He can see that his chest, arms and legs are criss-crossed in cuts, just deep enough to cause pain and blood loss but not deep enough to maim. Robert has had some fun this evening with him.

“The last time we met, you had your hands around my throat, intent on choking the life out of me. You would have succeeded if not for Lizzie, sweet Lizzie. I think of her once in a while and when I do, I remember how she was the only one in that place to show me any real kindness. She saved me though she sacrificed herself to do it. I didn’t kill her, you know I didn’t.”

He glares at him, still a vision of hell on earth.

“I should choke the life out of you, I should wrap my hands around your neck and squeeze and watch you change colour, for you to have blackness edge your vision and your lungs scream for air. Maybe I should, I have plenty of time…” He then pauses and shakes his head. He slides the blade of the knife up beneath his chin again and forces his head upwards so that he looks directly at him.

“Take a good look at me old man. Before you finally leave this world I want you to take a good look at me and realise that you helped create this man that you see before you. You made me what I am today. This is all of your doing and you should be proud of me, proud of yourself because I am, after all, your creation.”

Edmund’s eyes grow wide as Hal slowly moves around him, to stand behind the chair.

“Hal…please…” he babbles “She’s not…she’s not…”  His words are silenced as Hal grabs a handful of his hair, pulls his head back and slices the blade across his throat. Blood arcs from the wound in rhythmic spurts. He lets go of him and watches as Edmund’s body goes through its death throes, arching and spasming before he’s finally still.

 He turns his head and sees Wyndam and Robert standing in the doorway, observing him. He hadn’t even heard the door open again. His eyes return to their usual colour and his fangs retract as he moves away from Edmund’s corpse and retrieves the deeds recently signed over to him from where they’d fallen onto the floor.

“Go clean yourself up, we will deal with this,” Wyndam informs him, nodding his head towards the still warm body.

* * *

 

Neither Wyndam nor Robert could guess exactly how Hal would react to the events of the evening but they did not expect the deep brooding silence that they did find.

He has changed into fresh clothing and he sits in his chamber, blind and deaf to the goings on around him. Robert glides about in front of the fireplace, a glass of wine in one hand, his shirt untucked and sliding off one shoulder and he is humming a nameless, unknown tune under his breath. Louis switches between observing him and making sure that Hal’s own glass of wine never goes empty. He’s barely touched it so he feels a little bit redundant.

“Aren’t you in the mood to celebrate Hal?” Robert enquires, pausing from his gliding to observe his friend. Hal is slouched in a chair by the fire, chewing on a thumbnail and staring unblinkingly into space.

“Hal?” he repeats in a sharper tone. His friend blinks and then lifts his head slightly to look at him.

“I’m sorry, what?” Robert sighs and rolls his eyes. He holds his glass aloft.

“We should celebrate this momentous occasion…how about it?” he suggests. He watches as Hal seems to physically come back into the present. He straightens slightly in his seat and reaches for his own glass but he doesn’t drink from it. Instead he looks down into the dark red depths.

“Perhaps later,” he mumbles. Robert frowns, somewhat frustrated by his friend’s subdued mood. He should be shouting his victory the loudest.

“Are you not pleased Hal? It’s what you deserve!”

There is no response.

“Admittedly, it’s a whorehouse but it’s a start is it not? You could do anything you please with it…”

“I think she’s alive Robert,” Hal interrupts and Robert pauses. He frowns once more.

“I’m sorry but who is? Rosemary? Well who cares because that won’t be for much longer…” He chuckles under his breath and he takes a mouthful of his wine.

“Lizzie…I think she’s alive…” Hal looks up at Robert and his expression is so sad.

“I have to go there and find out for myself, I owe her.” Robert goes still.

“And if she is alive, what do you plan to do? Recruit her, bring her back here? Wyndam will not allow it.” Hal continues to look up at him.

“I don’t know, I have not thought that far ahead,” he admits. He then shakes his head.

“It’s ridiculous, she’s dead.” He looks back down at his wine goblet and the frown returns.

“You’ve never said how she died.”

Hal goes still for a while and that subtle frown comes and goes.

“I’m not entirely sure what happened but what I do remember is finding her at the bottom of the stairs at the Inn, I’d fought with Edmund and he beat me, tried to choke me. I tumbled down the stairs and she must have got caught up in it all because she was there too, covered in blood and unmoving. She’s dead; she couldn’t have survived that fall.”

“Why not? You did.”  Hal looks up at him.

“There was so much blood Robert, I don’t see how she could have.”

* * *

 

Robert finds him in the stables, grooming Achilles. The other stable lads observe him but are careful to stay out of his way, they are used to his routines and how possessive he is of his ride. Robert glances at them as he enters and obediently they disappear from sight.

Hal seems to sense his presence as he turns his head and looks at him over one shoulder.

“I thought I might find you here,” Robert begins. Hal returns his attention to Achilles, brushing his gleaming hide with long, sure strokes.

“And so you have found me. I wasn’t hiding,” he replies evenly.

“You have had your revenge against Edmund Yorke, was it every bit as satisfying as you’d hoped?” Hal doesn’t respond initially and Robert watches as he attends to his horse.

“Yes. He is gone from this world finally by my own hand, how could I not be satisfied?” he eventually replies. Robert sighs quietly.

“And yet you are quiet and contemplative. Are you still thinking about your Lizzie?” Hal pauses again and then he turns fully to look at his friend.

“I’m curious,” he admits.

“Then why don’t we investigate? Isn’t it about time that the new owner of The Yorke Inn pays a visit to his employees?” Robert suggests. Hal stares at him.

“Or were you just planning on ignoring it, and let Rosemary wonder what happened to Edmund…let her struggle without him?”

Hal snorts. “She will find a benefactor quickly enough. I’m just biding my time, choosing my moment,” he tells him. Robert smiles at him.

“Then the moment should be soon and it should also be swift. Don’t you want to see the look on Rosemary’s face when she discovers who her new employer is? I know I do.” He grins mischievously. “And there are loose ends to be tied up, lines to be drawn before you leave,” he reminds him in a low voice.

Hal regards him, seeing the determined expression in Robert’s eyes. “Ah. I take it you were the one sent to extend the invitation for Yorke to... _dine_ …here the night I was sent away?” He doesn’t react when he sees the surprise in his friend’s eyes. Robert’s chin goes up very slightly as if in challenge.

“And if I was?”

“Well it would explain why I was sent to the gathering instead of you. And here I thought you had fallen foul of our esteemed patron.” Hal’s tone is dry.

“Well it couldn’t very well be you, could it?” Robert retorts.

 Hal shrugs nonchalantly “Very true but it also explains your impatience in wanting to deal with the Yorke Inn, those annoying _loose_ _ends_ , namely Rosemary and the fact that she may talk to the wrong people perhaps?” Hal’s eyes gleam with ill-concealed mischief and Robert frowns darkly.

“There is that too. It could bring unforeseen trouble if left ignored,” he warns him. Hal regards him steadily.

“She isn’t that intelligent Robert but I promise you that it will be dealt with and to _my_ satisfaction,” he answers coldly.

* * *

 

It’s full dark as they flit like shadows across the bridge to where the Yorke Inn is situated. They gather together nearby and observe. They are legion but invisible all the same.

Hal stands by the entrance to the building and he stares up at it. It’s in darkness, closing up for the night. After all of this time it hasn’t changed all that much and it’s still enough to send shivers down his spine. Each memory as dark as its predecessor.

“Hal.”

Pulled sharply out of his memories, he turns his head and looks at Robert who stands by his right shoulder “Let me go in first, for that extra element of surprise perhaps?” he suggests. Hal regards him for a moment and then holds out a hand for Robert to precede him.

Business seems to be winding down for the night as the initially small group make their entrance. Hal stays partially hidden behind Robert but his eyes take in his surroundings, ignoring the chill that still trickles down his spine like ice. It has changed its appearance somewhat but not by much. He deliberately ignores the twist of fear this building still brings to him. Even after all these years and given what he has become; he is afraid of this place.

“We’re closed,” a female voice interrupts his thoughts and he turns his head towards it. The last time he’d heard that voice, it had accused him of thievery and worse.

“You’re mistaken if you think that we’re here to conduct business mistress,” Robert answers in a low voice. There’s a brief silence and Hal listens intently.

“I remember you…” she begins, her tone softening, becoming a little more flirtatious as she takes in Robert’s countenance. “ Why are you here? I’m afraid Edmund isn’t here; I haven’t seen him in a day or so.” Hal hears her tone begin to change, her annoyance at his perceived abandonment beginning to sharpen her voice and he bites back a smile.

“That’s because he’s here at my invitation,” Hal announces, moving away from behind Robert and coming to stand beside him. “And you won’t be seeing Edmund here again I’m afraid.”

 The woman before them stares at him with a narrowed gaze. “And who might you be?” she demands shrewishly and Hal rolls his eyes and he looks to Robert as he does so.

“This is really becoming tiresome. How long was I gone from this place or do the people around these parts truly have such poor recollection?”  Robert regards him with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders before Hal looks back at her.

“Perhaps I should be cowering on the floor as I don’t think you’d remember me otherwise.” His voice is heavy with scorn as he takes a couple of slow steps towards her and his voice lowers to a whisper. “Or perhaps I am a spirit returned from his watery grave to haunt you.”  Her eyes widen slightly in recognition as well as alarm. He watches how she straightens, the colour draining from her face.

“You have no business being here at this hour Hal, you must leave otherwise I will cause such a ruckus unlike anything you have ever known!” she warns, her voice beginning to rise, filling with bravado.

Hal smiles. “I remember the uproar you used to cause with your light fingers and lying ways. I’ve never forgotten.” He reaches inside of his doublet and takes out the property deeds and he holds them up for her to see. “You have no dominion over me Rosemary because as the new owner of this hovel, I have every right to be here,” he adds, his voice hardening. He watches how her mouth drops open and her eyes widen with shock.

“How…where’s Edmund? Does he know of this?” she demands. She snatches the document out of his hand and Hal is bemused as he watches her scrutinise it.

“Whose signature do you think that is at the bottom? Which is moot given you can’t read,” Hal drawls and Rosemary lifts her head and she glares at him.

“He would never sell up to you!” she hisses, tossing the document down at his feet.

“He didn’t offer it for sale exactly. It was… _awarded_ to him, call it a present. He didn’t really have much of a say in the matter to be honest,” Robert interrupts and Hal glances briefly at him as he comes to stand beside him. Rosemary turns her attention to him and Hal sees how her eyes narrow, how troubled her expression becomes.

“You came here to see Edmund with an invitation to dine...” she begins and Robert grins at her.

“And most delicious he was too,” he informs her. It’s then that Hal produces a set of keys.

“I remember how these never left his sight and now they are mine.” He gives them a brief rattle and he turns in a small circle as he takes the room in. Then he pauses and he looks at his small coterie.

“There are several rooms upstairs. You’re to visit them all and bring everyone down here. No exception and by force if necessary but do _not_ hurt any of them,” he instructs. He slowly pivots on his heel and he looks straight at Rosemary.

“You however, if you move a single muscle then I’ll be forced to rip out your throat,” he warns.

“You do not scare me young Hal!” she hisses back at him. Hal takes two rapid steps towards her and then stops as she backs up just as quickly. His eyes glitter as he wraps a hand around her throat and grips tightly.

“Do not presume you know me anymore Rosemary; be assured I’m not that scared snivelling child of old. When I say I will rip out your throat, then that is _exactly_ what I will do!” he hisses with barely controlled ice cold rage. Rosemary grows pale and remains silent. He then looks at Robert, his hand still wrapped around her neck.

“Guard her and if she tries to escape then kill her, I don’t care how.” Robert nods and watches as he releases her, pushing her backwards and takes his leave.

* * *

 

He can hear the women screaming as he climbs the staircase, a lantern in one hand. He ignores them as he walks along the corridor. He pauses beside what used to be her room but he does not recognise the girl Charles drags out of there. They make brief eye contact; her eyes are filled with tears and terror. Hal’s expression is blank as he turns and continues to walk.

He’s at the room at the very top of the building. He pauses by the door. It’s still as cold here as he remembers, a bitter draught sliding between gaps in the roof timbers. He remembers the cold, how it invaded every corner of his pitiful room, turn his skin pale and pinched and blue in the harshest of winters. He takes a breath and opens the door.

He stands on the threshold and lifts the lantern up. Upon first inspection the room looks to be empty. He enters the room and sees the narrow bed he once occupied is still where he remembers and still pathetic but there are signs of recent occupation, the threadbare blankets kicked back in a hurry. He turns his head and sees someone huddled in the furthest corner of the room, a smudged black shadow in the half light.

Slowly Hal approaches what initially looks like a collection of rags and material and then he pauses when it moves. It lifts its head and turns in his direction and his eyes go wide when he recognises who it is. He cautiously approaches her once more and the dull gold from the light of the lantern reveals her to him.

Her once blonde hair is now streaked a dull grey and no longer the crowning glory it once had been. The intervening years have not been kind. She’s thin, almost to the point of scrawny, her face gaunt, skin pulled tightly over cheekbones and jawline. Her eyes, once as blue as a summer sky and filled with laughter are now dull with a pale grey cobwebby film over them. He sees the fine white scar that etches her skin from above her left eyebrow, disappearing into her hairline. He stops in front of her and he crouches down in front of her.

“Who are you?” Her voice is rougher than he remembers, a rough whisper. For a moment he just stares at her as he remembers Edmund’s last words. _“She’s not…she’s not…”_

“I may be almost blind but I’m able to see shadows…and I know that you’re nearby.”

“Lizzie,” he murmurs. She frowns and tilts her head to one side.

“I know that voice…but it can’t possibly be…Edmund told me you were dead.” Hal just stares at her and for a moment he can’t respond and he feels a lump form in his throat and tears begin to burn in the backs of his eyes.

“It’s me Lizzie, it’s Hal,” he whispers. He watches how her eyes widen and her mouth drops open.

“You are a liar or you are his spirit and I am at death’s door sir!” She cowers back, clutching her shawl more tightly about her.

Hal shakes his head “I am none of those Lizzie. It truly is me, the child you tried to nurture and who you tried to protect that last day, the little boy whose name you drew in the dirt and told him what those letters were. You told him that he was actually named Henry but you thought he suited Hal more.” His voice fades away as he sees tears rim the edges of her eyes. He places the lantern down by his knee and he moves closer to her but pauses again when she presses her back up against the wall.

“Don’t you believe me?” he whispers.

She frowns. “My mind wanders. I have days where I don’t know whether what I think is truth or fancy. I have such dreams and nightmares,” she whispers. “You are a figment of my imagination, a spirit.” She turns her head away and he looks on helplessly.

“I can get you out of here Lizzie, I can save you,” Slowly Lizzie turns her head back around and she looks at him but through him all the same.

“Save me from what? I can see naught but shadows, I am useless. I am nothing but a burden on humanity. Nobody cares whether I live or die so why should I care about them or what you say you can give me?” she retorts archly. Hal moves forward and he touches her face, feeling how she rears away from his touch.

“I am not a spirit Lizzie,” he whispers. “I have come back for you.” She looks at him through her cobwebby eyes.

“I have had many times where I have dreamed of such a thing happening but that is all that they are. Whoever you are, whoever you _claim_ to be, leave me be and return to your mayhem. I can hear them screaming, the demons and you are one of them. Leave me.” She pushes him and he falls back and he stares at her in shock.

“Hal?” His head snaps around when he hears Robert’s voice. He stands in the doorway and there is a frown on his face.

“We are waiting for you,” he reminds him. Hal stares at him and then he blinks and gives a little shake of his head.

“I’ll be downstairs presently,” he tells him and Robert stares at him for another moment, the frown remaining.

“Very well,” he murmurs and Hal listens as the sound of his footsteps fades away.

He looks back at Lizzie.

“Is that another of your friends, demon?” she hisses at him. Hal frowns at her and ignores the flare of pain that brews in his soul.

“I’m not a demon…”

“Yes you are! What else can cause that noise downstairs except something unholy? I may be blind young sir but I am not deaf, my hearing is much sharper than it used to be, it has to be and I can hear each one of them, begging for mercy, for their lives,” she snarls at him and Hal stares at her in disbelief.

“You are going to kill them and for what reason? Do you really need one? My Hal was a good boy and in his stead his spirit returns a demon, an unholy child. You are nothing but a devil’s spawn!” she hisses and she spits at him.

Hal lunges at her and covers her nose and mouth with the palm of his hand and he presses down hard. He ignores the tears that swell in his eyes and slip down his cheeks. She tries to fight back, tries to claw at him but it’s hopeless and it doesn’t take long for the life to slip out of her. He releases his hold on her and watches how she slides down to the floor.

He sits for a moment on the floor and he stares at her corpse. Using the heels of his hands he scrubs at his eyes and takes a deep breath and retrieves his lantern. He gets to his feet in one graceful movement and turns on his heel and leaves the room. He doesn’t pause and he doesn’t look back.

* * *

 

He doesn’t recognise any of the girls huddled together in the room around Rosemary when he makes his entrance. His eyes scan their faces as they stare back, pale faced, teary eyed and shaking in their shifts.

“Is this all of them?” he asks Charles and he nods.

“Why?” Rosemary demands loudly. “Why are you doing this?”

Hal stares at her. Then he gives an elegant shrug.

“Why not?” he replies. He then looks to Robert.

“Kill them. Kill them all and when you’re done, burn this place down to the ground.”

Robert gives a nod before turning his attention to the girls and to Rosemary and one by one each vampire’s eyes bleed black and reveal sharp white fangs. They attack so quickly that they don’t have time to scream.

Hal leaves them to it, walking free from the Inn, out into the freezing night air.

He sees Wyndam across the courtyard, barely noticeable in the dark shadows, keeping watch with his cloak wrapped tightly around himself, the only colour his pale face. Hal slowly walks towards him.

“I thought you wanted your revenge?” Wyndam enquires. Hal pauses beside him and slowly turns to look at the building. Already he can see the first golden orange flames flickering near the grubby windows. He watches as one by one the group of vampires emerges.

“I’ve already had it,” he murmurs as he watches them approach.

He waits for Robert to approach and watches as he wipes the blood from his face.

“Didn’t you want a sip Hal?” he asks as they make preparations to leave. Hal glances at him and shakes his head.

“It wasn’t about the blood, not this time.”

“Then what was it about?”

Hal turns his attention to the building once more which is now well alight, flames licking at the ancient timberwork, already poking through the roof top.

It was about purging the shadows from his soul, being reborn almost. He sighs.

“It doesn’t matter,” he answers.

* * *

 

They are like shadows once again as they make haste in their departure.

“Did you find her?” Robert asks as they enter the house. Hal looks at him as he unhooks his cloak.

“Find who?”

“Your friend…Lizzie? Was she who you were talking to in the attic?”

Hal stares at him for a moment as he removes his own cloak and hands it off to a waiting servant. Then he blinks and shakes his head.

“No…I was mistaken…she was just a demented woman who used to work there, after my time,” he tells him with a breezy smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Robert stares at him for a moment. Then he grins in return and claps Hal on his shoulder.

“Now will you celebrate with me? I can get Arthur to bring us a bottle of excellent wine from the cellar. I think the occasion most definitely calls for it don’t you agree?”

Hal nods.

“It does,” he confirms.

He watches as Grace appears and observes how they embrace, how Robert smiles at her and how Grace smiles in return.

He shares a somewhat celebratory bottle of wine with them both and listens with half an ear as they talk before he excuses himself and returns to his chamber.

* * *

 

The remaining night time hours drift by. Wyndam and Bartholomew are ensconced within the library, lost in a discussion about religion and philosophy. Arthur catches Grace outside the cellar door and there is a mischievous twinkle in her eye as the door opens and Robert emerges, a bottle of wine in one hand and another tucked under one arm. He smiles at him and puts a finger to his lips. Arthur rolls his eyes but lets him pass. He smiles to himself as he hears Grace giggle and the sound of their running footsteps.

Hal sleep, his dreams undisturbed.

 


	30. Chapter Thirty.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter. Back in the present. The events of this chapter are set around the events of the season four finale and after the events of season five.

**Chapter Thirty:**

**_The Present…._ **

He stands alone on the shoreline and stares out to sea, barely aware of the icy cold breeze that whips around him, teasing and pummelling at him. He stares unseeingly at the greyish green waves that rush to greet him at the shore. He huddles into himself, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of his coat as he lifts his gaze up and across to the pale horizon. He’s trying his best to ignore the newly awoken craving that itches beneath his skin. He’s trying to ignore the knowledge that when he looks at a human being, he can see the tracing of their veins beneath their skin, can all but see the blood flowing in them and that it’s only sheer strength of will stopping him from attacking them, killing them and draining them of every single drop. It will only last for so long, once his resolve fails him then there’ll be no going back and when that _does_ happen, he’ll be worse than before. He always is and he's under no illusion this time. It’s a delicate balancing act. It’s also terrifying how fragile his thread of control is at this moment in time. A single trigger and it will be game over; for him and for humanity. He takes a deep shaky breath and screws his eyes tightly shut.

He is still wondering at Wyndam’s absence, at where he could be. For occasions such as this, he would be at Snow’s right hand, second in command and his authority absolutely unassailable. Everyone is afraid of him and only the foolhardy will say that they are not. He made that mistake once, told him to his face that he did not scare him and it had taken him weeks to recover from the terrible injuries Wyndam had inflicted upon him for his impudence. For a while after that he kept his mouth shut, lesson seemingly learned until his confidence and reputation grew and his bravado became stronger. By the time that happened, nobody scared him except perhaps for Snow and everyone _was_ afraid of him.

There’s only one reason why Edgar Wyndam wouldn’t have been at the warehouse earlier and he can’t quite possibly believe it to be the truth.

“Hal.”

His eyes pop open and he goes absolutely still when he hears her voice. Slowly he turns his head and he watches her as she comes to stand beside him.

“Maria,” he greets levelly.

She’s sensibly dressed for the inclement weather, wrapped up against the cold in a thick dark coat, long black boots and her dark hair partially hidden by the beret that she wears. Her pale skin is luminous still, make up expertly applied and he briefly wonders how she manages it.  Even after all of this time she is still immaculately stylish.

“The last time that I heard from you you were heading to South America,” Hal reminds her. She holds his gaze.

“I did. I went and I came back,” she replies.

“Why?”

“Well I suppose I could ask you the same question. For _us_ it was all down to a train tunnel and two vengeful rather naughty vampires who didn’t understand the meaning of discretion, and in the process there was the discovery of the War Child which is where _you_ come in, _brave_ protector,” she answers, her tone as chilly as the breeze that buffets them both. “Or are you? You never grabbed me as the baby type.”

Hal doesn’t respond and she moves a little bit closer to him. “You know, I thought I saw you in that warehouse yesterday but I wasn’t completely sure. For being off the grid for the last fifty-five years you’ve been remarkably easy to find in this godforsaken hole.”

“Then _why_ are you here in Barry?” Hal demands irritably and she stares at him with calm deep green eyes.

“He knows you’re here and he’s going to come to see you you know,” she tells him and Hal frowns.

“Who…Wyndam?” He watches how she shakes her head.

“No…sadly Wyndam is dead…no…you know who I’m talking about,”

He does but he’s still processing the confirmation of his suspicion about Wyndam.

“He’s dead?” His voice is soft with disbelief.

“You didn’t know?”

“I’ve haven’t exactly been keeping up to date with what’s been going on for the last five and a half decades,” he retorts testily. “What happened to him?”

He sees how she looks down for a moment before she lifts her head and regards him.

“It was terrible; he came here to collect John Mitchell on Snow’s orders and ran into a complication…namely the wrong end of a stake courtesy of Mitchell’s _friend_ , the werewolf that he shared a house with, the house you currently occupy with another werewolf and a ghost. Snow was devastated, he truly mourned him.” Hal sees the faint glimmer of tears in her eyes.

“You were fond of him and he was of you,” he murmurs, his irritation beginning to lift.

“Do you think so?”

Hal rolls his eyes. “He gave you Xavier’s job; he didn’t even consult Snow about it, that’s how fond of you he was, as fond of anyone as he could ever be. He trusted you.”

He looks across the bay again. “I can imagine you couldn’t let his death go unpunished…He died you know, the werewolf who killed Mitchell, after his partner who was _also_ a werewolf was murdered, set upon by vampires. Organised by you no doubt? A quick phone call to Griffin am I right?” He glances sideways at her to see her surprise.

“He had to suffer. How did _you_ know?”

“Annie, the ghost you mentioned? She was their friend and she told me how they both died. It would make sense that it would be you who would make sure Wyndam’s death was avenged.” He looks away, shaking his head very slightly.

“If you had behaved yourself Hal... back then...before …”

“Back then I wasn’t the behaving myself sort of person now was I?” he reminds her and doesn’t see the faintly reminiscent smile that replaces the threatening tears.

“Oh yes, I remember the business with the Boleyn Queen…”

 Hal looks back at her. “I liked her; she had a very dry wicked sense of humour. I felt she was very misunderstood.”

“Well she certainly liked you… but you were playing with fire back then Hal, it could’ve cost you your head and would have if Edgar hadn’t stepped in when he did…” She bites back a smile when she sees the recollective glimmer in his eyes.

“They had to catch me first…” he murmurs.

“Edgar wasn’t happy with you after that…and then that business with Richmond, that _really_ set him off…” Hal looks away again.

“Ah yes, siring him was what got me banished from his presence.”

“And with good reason Hal! The King's son! He forbade you to go back but you didn’t listen…”

“The boy was a lot of fun…as well as consumptive…so he was my first…recruit.”

“You always did have a lousy taste in recruits Hal Yorke, you quickly got bored and cast him off into Edgar’s care and disappeared and we didn’t see you but boy did we hear about you…”

“What happened to Richmond?” Hal interrupts sharply.

“He didn’t adapt to the lifestyle and by then Edgar had run out of patience. He barely lasted a decade before he was ended, silly boy.”

“Ouch,” Hal murmurs.

“Indeed,” Maria agrees and Hal regards her.

“You still haven’t answered my question Maria…what are you doing here and what do you want?”

“You know why I’m here Hal, why we’re all here and what I would really like is for you to come back into the fold,” she answers.

“You know that isn’t going to happen,” Hal tells her and she frowns.

“But the moment Snow issues the command, you’ll have no choice _but_ to obey, you literally can’t refuse him.”

“I could leave here…”

“And you know that he’ll find you. It doesn’t matter how long it will take, we have nothing but time.”

Hal goes very still and watches her with a bare modicum of suspicion as she dimples a smile in his direction and moves closer to him. He takes a half step away from her and she pauses, the smile vanishing to be replaced by a perplexed frown.

“And I also wanted to see you again. You used to fade in and out of our world quite often didn’t you?  You’d create your special brand of mayhem and then disappear for a decade or two only to reappear quite unexpectedly and when you did it was like you were determined to erase whoever  _that_ man was by being an absolute devil. I suppose at the moment it’s the other Hal’s turn am I right?” Hal turns to look at her more fully but he doesn’t answer her.

“I think he’s always been there, this alter ego of yours. I think I saw a hint of him behind your eyes when we were travelling back from Snow’s residence when Edgar first took you on and once in a while he fights his way to the surface. He tries to be noble and kind and heroic but the other you, the _real,_ braver and more honest you can’t stand that and always takes over, whether it takes a decade, fifty years or a century, he’s always there, always lurking.” She presses an index finger in the centre of his chest “Always waiting for his turn.” Hal captures her wrist and holds onto it, looking into her eyes.

“He’s not there now,” he murmurs.

She smiles very softly.

“Liar,” she whispers.

* * *

 

They’re all gone, blown to smithereens in that warehouse. Snow, Maria…all of them obliterated, dust on a breeze. He was fully prepared to be one of them until Annie made the ultimate sacrifice, the baby was gone and now there was just the three of them, himself, Tom and Alex, he was part of yet another trinity.

The thick leather straps press into the skin of his forearms and he helplessly grips the handles of the chair he’s fastened to. Another longer strap is secured around his chest and he can feel it bite through the shirt he wears each time he takes a deep enough breath. The craving for human blood is like a fire raging throughout his entire body. He told Tom and Alex that this is what they must do if they want to save him. That it will take many weeks of patience and understanding and that anything he may scream at them, he doesn’t mean it, that it’s the craving for blood that is talking. He screws his eyes tight shut and he tugs at them helplessly but Tom has done a very good job of securing them as he knew he would.

Right now he wishes that Leo was here with him.

“Leo isn’t here but maybe I’ll do?” Hal flinches when he hears the cool voice. He opens his eyes and sees him standing across from him, lounging against the bar that forms part of the living room.

“You’re dead,” he grinds out. Wyndam sighs and straightens up.

“I’ve been dead for over a thousand years if you want to get pedantic,” he replies and for a moment he regards him with arms folded and his head tilted to the side.

“Why must you put yourself through all of this Hal? It never takes does it, not completely?”

Hal glares at him. “Go away,” he growls.

“And go where? I’m a figment of _your_ imagination remember?” he goads. Hal closes his eyes and all can be heard is the sound of his laboured breathing.

“I’m still here, ignoring me won’t make me disappear,” Wyndam tells him and Hal opens his eyes and he glares at him once more.

Wyndam regards him. “You changed after we dealt with the matter at the Inn. Your shackles left you and you became that vampire Snow predicted you would be. You became him and so much more. You still can be you know, there’s just you left. Oh and apparently Hetty too…she’s a minx but she has her uses.”  Wyndam walks towards him and pauses just in front of him and he looks down at him.

“You were quite the busy boy after we parted ways weren’t you? Determined to prove yourself at all costs. Made a lot of people very afraid of you.” He slowly shakes his head. “But I knew…I always knew.” He fixes him with his sharp gaze.

“You became very good at hiding your thoughts behind those eyes of yours. No one knew for sure what you were thinking and you used that to your advantage and you still do. You tell _them_ one thing but you’re thinking something completely different,” He inclines his head towards Tom who is sleeping soundly on the sofa, and why shouldn’t he; he can’t see or hear him. He crouches down.

“Just bide your time. All of this will become yours if you want it to. That hidden part of you that you like to pretend doesn’t exist, is just waiting for his opportunity. He’ll be back,” he predicts. He regards Hal calmly as he straightens up.

“You were afraid at times, you’d try to remind yourself that you were human and when those feelings of horror and guilt got to be too much then that was when you’d hide away and play at it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Hal spits.

“Oh don’t I? You were always afraid that you’d ultimately become like me, that you would inherit my reputation but let me tell you something Hal. You could never be like me.” He continues to regard him and he smiles his strange chilly little half smile.

“Because you know you could be better.”

* * *

 

 Hal stands on the pavement and stares up at the tall, glossy steel and glass building. He frowns.

“Is this the right place then?” Alex asks and he glances at her. He just nods. He then looks around himself, the frown still there but slightly fainter now.

“Yes. Nothing remains though, it’s all changed,” he murmurs. Alex moves closer to him and slips her arm through his. He looks down at it but doesn’t move away this time. He’s still having trouble remembering that he doesn’t have to now. Alex looks at him and she smiles.

“The prison is still here, a tourist attraction now. Want to take a look, relive old memories?” Her smile widens at his look of horror.

“Hardly, the place was fearsome enough the first time around,” he tells her haughtily and she chuckles.

“Oh, were you a resident at one point then?” she teases. He shakes his head.

“No but the reputation was enough.” He feels her squeeze his arm comfortingly.

“Has it all completely changed then?” she asks.

“I’d forgotten how noisy London has become but less smelly thank God,” he answers as his eyes take in his surroundings. He then looks at her “but all of _this_ …while it’s physically changed, I still remember it, how it was back then. This is where I was born.” He indicates the modern building in front of him. Then he turns his back to it and she sees how he frowns. “It was all such a rabbit’s warren of alleyways and courtyards back then. Everything and everyone was so huddled together, on top of each other. You were at the peril of death from ill health, disease or just on the receiving end of someone’s bad mood.” He takes a deep breath and he seems to shake himself out of whatever melancholy grips him and he turns back to where the brothel used to stand.

“What happened to it…?” Alex indicates it. Hal huffs out a breath and he looks at her.

“It burned down to the ground, on my instruction. Everyone in there died…or was dead before the fire was lit. I’d had my revenge, I wanted no part of it even though I owned the building by then,” he explains and sees how she blinks in surprise.

“You owned it? How?”

“How do you think? I took it. It was a very long time ago Alex, I’m not sure I want to go over old ground again, figuratively or literally.” Another frown comes and goes.

“We could talk about it over lunch?” she suggests and he looks at her.

“You can’t possibly be hungry again,” he comments and she smiles semi-apologetically and shrugs.

“I’m always hungry, that part has never changed since before all of … _this_ …happened, used to drive my brothers nuts that I could eat an’ eat an’ not gain an ounce.”

He remains still and regards her for a long moment "Why am I not in the least bit surprised?" he drawls.

* * *

 

They sit in a small café not too far away and Hal nurses a cup of strong coffee and watches how Alex demolishes what has to be the largest slice of chocolate fudge cake he has seen in his very long lifetime. He smiles very softly at the look of unadulterated bliss on her face as she samples each mouthful. Her reinvigorated enthusiasm for life and food is infectious and heart-warming at times and downright stomach churning at others.

“So…”

Hal watches how, cake eaten, she sits back in her chair and she sighs contentedly.

“Please don’t tell me you want more.”

A brief flash of confusion crosses her face before her expression clears and she shakes her head. “God no, I’m full,” she replies and reaches for her tea cup.

“I’ve heard that one before,” Hal mutters under his breath as Alex takes a sip of her tea.

“So…” she repeats as she replaces the cup on the table in between them and she looks at him.

“You were born around here?” Hal just nods.

“And?” she continues and he frowns.

“And what? I was born, I existed and I left,” he informs her and she sighs raggedly.

“Gettin’ information out of you is like pullin’ teeth Hal!” she complains.

“Because it isn’t very interesting that’s why and far too long ago to revisit,” he defends.

“I’d still like to hear about it, isn’t that what a boyfriend an’ girlfriend do these days…share stories and experiences?” she retorts with a familiar flash in her eyes and Hal sighs and rolls his.

“Is that what we are?” he retorts archly. He sees the pain that flares briefly in her expression before she quickly masks it.

“Fine, if that’s how you want to play it!” she snaps and folds her arms and she looks away. Hal stares at her for a moment. Once upon a time he would be content to let her sulk, he has become quite adept at ignoring her mercurial moods and flashes of anger when it suits him but now, now that they’re human again, he’s finding it more and more difficult to do so. He quietly sighs.

“Alex…” he begins and the cold shoulder he receives from her is positively arctic. “Please, I’m…sorry, I didn’t mean to be like that…it’s just…”

Alex looks at him and she sees his discomfort.

“It’s your default mood if anyone asks you anything remotely personal Hal, I should be used to it by now but after everythin’ that has happened, everythin’ we’ve been through, I honestly thought you’d be a bit more…considerate,” she tells him. He holds her gaze.

“I’m still getting used to the status quo, as are you and Tom and every other supernatural creature that walks the earth at the moment. I’m not being deliberately obtuse…” He sighs and looks away, biting his bottom lip as he does so. After a moment or two he looks back to her. “I was born around here, that part you already know. What I haven’t told you is that I never knew who my mother was or indeed who my father was. I was brought up, if you could call it that, in a brothel but it was a miserable existence. I was tolerated and later on, used and…abused…by paying customers.” He sees the shock that fills her eyes at that revelation and he battles against the shame that it brings, that the memory of it always brings.

“You got out of there though…”

Hal just nods. “I did but by the time I had, I’d killed someone and barely escaped with my life. It shaped me Alex, what happened to me in that place played a part in who I ultimately became. It helped to create that monster that lived inside of me.” He shakes his head and looks down at his rapidly cooling coffee.

“So after you were turned, you came back and you burned the place to the ground.”

He looks back at her. “After I had killed everyone associated with it. It was who I was at the time,” he explains seeing her expression change once again. “You asked Alex, this is me being honest and sharing some of my past with you. If you don’t think you can handle it then you should’ve thought about it before you asked about it. You know what my life was like before, I’ve never lied to you about the brutality of it and that I participated in that brutality freely and with abandonment.”

“But you weren’t always like that…when we first met for example…you were so shy and uptight and you still are, kind of, but that other you, the bad Hal…that’s who you become when you revert?” She’s talking about the Hal she got to meet however briefly prior to the devil’s defeat, the arrogant, cold, remorseless vampire of legend. She sees the frown that comes and goes across his face. He reaches for his coffee cup and lifts it, taking a small sip and replacing it back in front of him.

“It’s usually the beginning of something much worse. Every time he came back he was more cruel and terrible than before. It was as though he was determined to purge the memory of his more humane, kinder self. When he was in control, I was locked away, held prisoner and powerless.”

Alex blinks. “What? You were aware? A willing participant to his rampages?”

“At the beginning yes but as _he_ became stronger, I became weaker until eventually I faded away for a while, almost like I was in a coma, asleep but also aware.”

“You separated the two personalities?” Hal pauses as if mulling over her words.

“I suppose you could call him a separate personality, I think in my own way he was. I was Hal and _he_ was Harry…that person was Harry, at least to me he was,” he confesses.

“And that was who Tom and I met, before all of this happened an’ we got rid of Hatch?”

Hal inclines his head.

“That was Harry beginning to emerge. Lord Hal, Lord Harry, nicknames I have been given over the ages.”

Alex regards him contemplatively “Aye, I could see you as a Lord somehow, you’re certainly posh enough,” she teases and Hal smiles faintly.

“Let me tell you a little secret Alex, I wasn’t always posh,” he mock whispers and she grins in response.

“No, you weren’t.”

* * *

 

 

“Mr Yorke, you have a message.”

Hal pauses by the desk and stares at the hotel receptionist in puzzlement. In her hand is a white square envelope.

“For me? Are you sure?” The receptionist nods and hands the missive across to him.

“I am. He was very insistent and said that I had to give his note to you in person,” she explains and Hal freezes in the process of opening the envelope.

“He?” He watches how she goes a faint shade of pink as she smiles.

“Yes sir, maybe six feet tall, short black hair, very blue eyes, charming smile…” Her words falter as Hal gives a sigh and rolls his eyes.

“D’you know who she means?” Alex enquires and he glances at her and he nods. He continues to open the envelope and take out a single sheet of note paper.

“A very old friend, emphasis on the old.” He frowns very slightly as he reads the few short lines scribbled in black ink. He looks at her again. “And he wants to catch up.” He looks to the receptionist and he politely smiles his thanks.

* * *

 

Hal is quiet in the cab on the way to the residence. Alex sits beside him but he’s aware of her speculative glances in his direction. He can almost feel her curiosity.

“So he’s a very old friend of yours, how old exactly?” she asks. He glances at her.

“Old. He’s older than me,” he replies and sees how her eyes round at that. “The majority of those at the warehouse were older than me. Snow called me his enfant terrible from time to time, why do you think that was?”

“A terrible child, well that makes a sick kind of sense, and you got quite high up in the echelons too,” Alex comments pithily. Hal sighs and just shrugs.

“How does anyone progress through the ranks these days?” he murmurs and turns his attention to looking out the window, not really seeing the buildings and the humanity that flow past him. To him they all blend together, bland and uninteresting.

“If I live to be a hundred, I will never understand vampires,” Alex mutters and Hal looks at her.

“Pray that you don’t,” he answers.

* * *

 

“I thought you said all vampires are broke?” Alex murmurs. Hal follows her onto the pavement and together they look at the sprawling mansion set back from the main road and surrounded by an intimidating looking high stone wall, an equally intimidating iron gate keeping the outside world separate.

“Not all of them. Some did invest their money and invest it wisely. He was always financially prudent.”

“Or he had a big win on the lottery,” Alex quips and Hal bites back a smile, trying to imagine his friend doing such a thing. He would’ve definitely chosen to remain anonymous. They walk towards the gates, seeing the grey rectangular intercom attached to a wall post. Hal presses a button and he winces at the burst of static he gets in response.

“Hal Yorke. I’m expected,” he informs the voice. After a moment there’s a buzz and the gates slowly begin to open.

Together they walk down the driveway towards the large sprawling property.

“I wonder how long he’s lived here.” Alex murmurs. Hal shrugs.

“You’ll have to ask him but I do know that he wasn’t living here the last time I spoke to him,” Hal answers and Alex’s look is speculative.

“And when was that?”

“In the early forties I think, I was visiting on behalf of Snow and I stayed with him, he had a very nice pied a terre in Kensington and where he used to live when I _first_ met him was twice the size of this place and ended being burned to the ground sometime in the seventeenth century,” Hal explains and Alex rolls her eyes.

“You vampires and your fires and your explosions,” she sighs.  

* * *

 

Hal has an odd sense of déjà vu when he sees the front door of the property open as they approach.

“Don’t you drive anymore Hal?” he comments with a wide smile as he walks towards them. Hal pauses and just regards him.

“Why should I when there are trains and cabs freely available?” he replies. He then shakes his hand, a smile crossing his face. “It’s been a while.”

“Far too long I agree,” his friend responds and he turns speculative blue eyes Alex’s way and they almost glow with ill-concealed curiosity.

“And who are you?” he all but breathes, holding out a hand.

“None of your business,” Hal replies and watches how he looks at him, mildly startled and then he grins.

“I’m Alex, I’m Hal’s…friend,” Alex responds, flicking a look Hal’s way and Hal is acutely aware of the speculative look on his friend’s face as he looks at him again.

“His…friend? Well Hal’s… _friend_ , my name is Robert Grey. I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.” He takes Alex’s hand and bows over it and Hal sees how it surprises her. Robert always was such a gallant one with the ladies and it would seem that habit hasn’t died.

“Won’t you both come inside?” he invites, holding out his other hand towards the house.

* * *

 

Hal takes in his surroundings as the trio enter the house. It isn’t as big as the original house but it’s big enough. There’s a lot of space, high ceilings and light pouring through equally large windows that offer an uninterrupted view of a large expanse of lawn, trees and a variety of flowerbeds and shrubbery.

“Is Grace here?” Hal enquires as he follows Robert into a large book lined library. He takes in the leather sofas that bracket an impressive looking fireplace. Three of the four walls are floor to ceiling bookcases, their shelves filled to bursting point and he itches to investigate. 

“She’s somewhere, I tend not to keep tabs on her,” Robert answers and Hal watches him approach and open a drinks cabinet. He turns to look at them both.

“Would you like a drink? Or coffee or tea if you’d prefer?” he enquires. Hal glances at Alex who just shakes her head. Her eyes are wide as she takes in her surroundings. Hal looks back at his friend and also shakes his head.

“So…” he begins as he walks towards them. He indicates the sofa and watches as they lower themselves down onto it. He occupies a squat armchair beside them.

The two former vampires regard each other.

“Why weren’t you in the warehouse?” Hal asks him. Robert observes him.

“I was away at the time…working. By the time I got back, it was all…over,” he replies and Hal sees the flash of sadness in those blue depths.

“Really? Snow would’ve given his orders weeks or months ago, you would have had plenty of time to get to Barry,” he chastises. Robert just shrugs guilessly.

“What can I say, I’m a busy man. Are they all gone?”

“Except for Hetty. I have no idea where she is though,” Hal answers. Robert smiles.

“Your most annoying recruit, it would make sense she’d survive. How is the little madam?”

“No doubt as sly and conniving as always. I have no idea, we haven’t spoken in decades. How did you know I was in London?” he demands. Robert smiles.

“I make it my business to know where people are Hal or have you forgotten?”

“You look for people?”

“And I find information. It was how Wyndam survived, made his reputation and it’s very lucrative. You were busy being an Old One and I was busy supplying all that was necessary for the likes of you to remain in control. Wyndam was right, knowledge is indeed power and I quickly discovered that people will pay to have it.” A faint smile crosses his face. “How do you think Snow knew where you were back in fifty-five?” He sees how Hal’s eyes widen in shock.

“It was you?” he breathes and Robert shrugs.

“You weren’t that hard to find really Hal and when I did and I told him where you were, he was all for Wyndam going to Southend to extract you but I convinced them to leave you be. You’d done this kind of thing before and you always came back. I advised them to bide their time and but by the time you did, they were all gone and you and your friends defeated the devil and here we are in this predicament.”

“And you’re human for the first time in how long? Six centuries?” Hal enquires and Robert shrugs.

“Something like that, I’ve lost count. It’s odd, being able to see my reflection in a mirror, feeling all those aches and pains associated with ageing, grey hairs. When Grace found her first one her scream was shrill enough to shatter glass, L’Oreal is now her best friend.” His eyes twinkle in amusement.

“How is Grace? Keeping you on your toes still?” Hal asks.

“She tries and mostly succeeds. I can imagine your Alex does the same, am I right?” He directs the question to her and she just smiles. Robert grins in response.

“And there’s my answer right there. How refreshing! Many women tried to tether themselves to Lord Hal here and they all failed, oh how they tried,” he sighs and Hal shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Robert quietly laughs at his discomfort.

* * *

 

The cab pulls up outside of the front door and Alex is first to get in. Hal goes to follow but Robert puts a hand on his arm and detains him.

“This is all very strange don’t you think?” he murmurs and Hal frowns at him.

“What is strange?”

“All of this? Humanity, being human, actually being alive. It’s very…odd and it doesn’t sit right. I have everything that I could possibly want and it just doesn’t feel right.” He frowns slightly and lets go of Hal’s arm. Hal regards him for a moment.

“It takes some adjustment, that’s all. Enjoy it, enjoy what you have,” he tells him. Robert sighs and he takes a step back, pushing his hands into the pockets of his expensive trousers.

“I will but don’t you think it’s all a little bit weird though Hal?” he asks as Hal gets into the back of the cab with Alex.

* * *

 

_‘It’s very…odd and it doesn’t sit right. I have everything that I could possibly want and it just doesn’t feel right’_

His words stick in Hal’s mind as he dresses for dinner. The three of them are going out for a meal. Ostensibly it’s to celebrate the defeat of the devil and the return of their humanity but Robert’s words lurk at the back of his mind as he slides on his grey suit jacket. He turns when he hears the gentle tap on his bedroom door and Alex pops her head around. She’s looking beautiful and his heart kicks up a notch. She smiles.

“Wow, you scrub up nice! Ready to go?” Hal nods. He picks up his wallet and slides it into the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Ready to go,” he replies.


End file.
